


so long as men can breathe

by Cloudnine101



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Love, Love Confessions, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mutantphobia, Romance, SHIELD, Twisted Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-25 17:58:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3819655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudnine101/pseuds/Cloudnine101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik Lehnsherr is a mechanic in Stark Industries, with a horrifically bad temper, few social skills to speak of, and even fewer friends. </p><p>He is also a mutant in hiding, and has never fallen in love. </p><p> </p><p>That is soon to change. </p><p> </p><p>(Reposted and altered! On hiatus.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  _Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?_

_Sonnet 18_

_William Shakespeare_

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's lease hath all too short a date.

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimmed;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed.

But thy eternal summer shall not fade

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;

Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

 

 

 

_'Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.' Lao Tzu_

 

 

 

Erik Lehnsherr lives an ordinary life. He wakes at the same time every morning - except on weekends, when he allows himself a lie-in. What harm can it do, after all? He goes to work. He chats to his (few) friends. He has a drink. He comes home. It's a regular schedule - day in, day out, with very little variation on the theme. And that's the way he likes it, really; because the fewer people he had to include, the fewer people might guess his secret.

In all honesty, he's something of a wallflower. While others prefer to dance the night away, he sticks to the sidelines, nursing a glass of whatever seems right. And, no matter what Stark says, he absolutely does not brood. He has no one to brood over - and that, too, is quite acceptable. (The less people he lets in, the better.) Half-hearted attempts have been made, in the distant past, to drag him out of the shadows; by simply scowling and snapping, he has found he can ward off all kinds of unwanted advances.  
His boss, however, doesn't seem to give a shit.

 

·

 

"Morning, Erik. Been seeing anyone recently?" Erik glowers from the work bench, hands curling into fists. Tony smirks, not at all taken aback.

"Go and die, Stark."

"You know, I really think it's time I got you a date. Have you met Natasha?" Tony picks up a spanner; Erik snatches it off him, throwing it down. It clatters satisfactorily against the bench.

"Leave. Now."

"Really, she's a catch, once you get past the obsession with knives; but that shouldn't be a problem for you, right?"

"I hope you catch the bubonic plague." Tony checks his reflection in the wall; pleased, he starts up again-

"Or there's always Betty...although I think Bruce might have dibs on that one, provided he can shake Loki off. That guy is dogged." Stark shudders. Erik is, momentarily, overcome with glee.

"Get. Out."

"Well, I guess we can talk later. Oh, by the way, I've got a new batch of parts coming in. Check up on them, will you?"

"That's not my job." The inventor pulls a face, whipping out his phone.

"That's just too bad, Lehnsherr. The thing is, I said I'd go to the orphanage this afternoon, to donate some stuff to the kids-" Erik snorts; beside him, the paperweight twitches.

"Since when have you cared about children?" Tony's face is impassive, as he types, fingers flurrying over the keypad.

"Since I started dating Steve." Erik is honestly surprised.

"You're still together? I thought he'd have stabbed you by now."

"Just because I'm in a healthy, stable romance, and your last date was in middle school-"

"There is nothing stable about your 'romance'. Your relationship consists of sex, sex, and more sex."

"Don't forget the booze," Stark cuts in, "and the incredible innuendos." Erik rolls his eyes, veins popping out on his forehead.

"It's a miracle you're still together."

"I like to consider it a testament to Steve's character. But, as I was saying, I do have to go see the kiddies. If you'd rather they get nothing for Christmas-" Tony's finger hovers over the send button, making the implication astoundingly clear.

Not for the first time, Erik seriously considers resigning.

"Alright, alright, fine! I'll do it!" Tony grins, teeth sparkling, as he slaps Erik on the shoulder.

"That's my man!" Erik grits his teeth, muttering something very obscene. "I don't know what you just said, and I don't think I want to."

Erik smiles, fangs bared; Stark shrinks back, hand dropping to his side. "Trust me, you don't." Tony backs away, paling. Satisfaction bubbles in Lehnsherr's chest, warming him. It's the best he's felt in a while.

"I'm outta here. Have fun with your toys, chief engineer Lehnsherr. Try not to burn the house down while I'm gone."

"If anyone's going to do that, it's Banner. Have you seen his experiments?" Stark shrugs, flipping a hand.

"Ah, Loki's just distracting him. When they get their stuff on, he'll be fine."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"Bye, Lehnsherr."

"I hope you fall down the stairs."

The door slams shut behind Tony.

"Mein Gott," Erik mutters, and begins to work.

 

·

 

He decides to skip lunch - the parts-checking-over took longer than anticipated (obviously, Stark had known, the little bastard), and he needs to catch up on lost time. He's paid to do a job, and he'll be damned if he's going to do poorly. Unfortunately, the universe has a funny tendency to get in the way of plans.

 

·

 

"Erik!" His head snaps up; internally, he groans.

"Darcy. What a surprise. I thought you were in New Mexico?"

"London," the girl corrects, sliding into the seat beside him, "and now I'm back, so I'm here. You need company, Mr I'm-so-macho, or you'll start ranting at Bruce again. He's got enough on his plate, with the whole 'being stalked by Thor's brother' nightmare. Seriously, that guy is a whole new level of creepy." She twirls her finger around her temple, lips pursed. "Bat-poop crazy, if you ask me. Remind me why we keep him around?

"If you're going to try and set me up, don't. Stark's already been in here. I can't take any more today. And there is no 'we'." Darcy lets out a low whistle, pointedly ignoring the last comment.

"Damn, that guy is persistent. I wonder if he sways both ways?" Erik shoots her a look from the corner of his eye. Darcy looks right back, eyes wide. "What?"

"I don't think he's available. Rogers really seems to care about him." The idiot, he considers adding, but leaves it. (He has no wish to be fired, and Stark's scarily good at discovering rumours. Sometimes, he thinks the cameras speak to him.)

Darcy appears to get the message, because she grins, spinning in the chair. Erik is tempted to grab it, but resists. Someone needs to be the adult, and it's obviously not going to be her. A strand of chocolate-coloured hair hits him in the face, as she twirls.

"Good for him. Hey, how about you? Been seeing anyone special, lately?" The words are so thick with meaning, Erik practically has to wade through them when he replies:

"No." Darcy raises an eyebrow, as she twists past.

"Maybe you should. Azazel's back in town. I could put in a good word for you."

"Why would I be interested in Azazel?" The woman shrugs, feet landing on the desk. Erik winces, watching his precious documents being crushed by her boots.

"You run in the same circles. Didn't you go to school together, or something?"

"University. We were hardly close." (I know your secret, you know mine - let's stay away from each other, and pretend nothing ever happened.)

"Right. So, not Azazel. How about Clint?"

Erik scoffs, pulling a sheet towards him. "Barton? Last I checked, he and Coulson were getting married."

"Not the point." Darcy leans in, pulling the piece of paper away from Lehnsherr. Glaring, he attempts to snatch it back - she holds it just out of his reach. "Seriously, Erik, you need a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Or a puppy."

"Why can't I get a fish? I hear they're good company." Darcy gives him her patented are-you-for-real stare, brows furrowed. When he doesn't respond, she tries a different tack.

"You need companionship, Lehnsherr. A fish won't make you get out of bed in the morning."

"I do get out of bed. I'm here."

"Shut up. Have you tried dating websites?"

Erik blanches, gripping the desk. "What? No!"

"Why not?" (Too many personal details. Too much chance of it being hacked. Too many white lies.)

"I'm not interested."

Darcy huffs in frustration. "Well, you're gonna have to get real busy real fast, or I'm locking you in a cupboard with Loki." With that disturbing sentence, she sweeps away, abandoning Erik to his thoughts.

When he's alone, he shoots paperclips at the filing cabinet. A few of them stick.  
It takes him half an hour to notice the sandwich she's left.

 

·

 

Walking home, he stops off in the park, taking his regular spot by the edge of the pond. There are still decorations around it - remnants, from the New Year display. But already, shops have started taking the decorations down - moving onto the next big date, big event, big seller, big spender. In a way, it's just like life.

The water ripples, reflecting his face back - a little too severe to be handsome, but nothing too horrendous - dark, firm, stern.

Sometimes, he allows his mind to wander, looking at himself; rolling along a line of what-ifs. What if he met a man who found him intelligent, or (this is his fantasy) attractive? What if they decided to meet up? What if-

Well. It doesn't matter. But once in a while, on particularly good days, Erik speculates about what he might look like. He's got it all figured out, in the privacy of his head. Not too short, but not tall; somewhere inbetween. Who wants to have to look up or down? Hair colour isn't really an issue - his own shade though is, in his opinion, too dark. He'd like something a little lighter; maybe hazel, or chestnut, although blonde wouldn't be too bad.

He hasn't got much further than that; because, even inside his own mind, he's learned to stop himself. But sometimes, as he sits beneath the drooping willows, he can almost pretend he's waiting for someone. Maybe they'd meet there, and sit side by side on the bench - breath steaming together, shoulders brushing, hands interlocked. Maybe, every once in a while, the man would smile at him, brushing their thumbs together. Maybe he'd even smile back.

Sitting there, he can almost believe it has a chance of coming true.

 

·

 

Beer cans are scattered along the pavement; reminders of previous revelry. Erik spent the New Year in his apartment, with a bottle of champagne and the countdown to keep him company. Emma did invite him to her party, but he declined. The last time he went to one of Azazel's events, it didn't go well.

 

·

 

At home, he collapses onto the sofa, turning on the news. The announcer appears: a tall woman, with fiery hair and kohl-lined eyes.

"This morning, the Westchester Mutant Facility's controversial plans were revealed-" Erik snatches his phone from the desk, doing his best to ignore the report - if he hears one more word about that goddamned place, he'll bend the fire escape out of shape again.

There are three new messages waiting for him.

 

·

 

From: The Asshole, 12:07, 04/01

checked the parts rocket man? 

 

·

 

Erik slams the buttons a little harder than necessary, replying with:

 

·

 

To: The Asshole, 18:02, 04/01

Yes. Hope Steve was fooled by your 'generosity', Stark. E

 

·

 

With a smirk to rival Tony's own, he slams the send button, before scrolling down.

 

·

 

From: Darcy Lewis, 16:35, 04/01

come out for drinks tomorrow - Clint's going.

·

 

There are faint banging noises, coming from upstairs - Erik cranes his neck upwards, teeth gritted. If he hears one more word about bloody Clint bloody Barton, he's going to scream.

 

·

 

To: Darcy Lewis, 18:06, 04/01

Can't. Work. E

 

·

 

Almost as an afterthought, he adds-

 

·

 

To: Darcy Lewis, 18:07, 04/01

Sorry. E

 

·

 

"-but the question is, is the world ready for this new development? And what could be the consequences? This is Jean Grey-"

He turns off the TV, discarding the mobile on the side table. He can't take another message tonight; it's probably from Darcy, anyway. Occasionally, he wants to strangle that girl - occasionally being code for more often that not.

 

·

 

He slips into his pyjamas, pads back into the living room, and eats Darcy's (now squashed) tuna mayonnaise baguette. It's nice enough, he supposes, if you've got an obsession with mayo - like a certain Clint-Barton-adoring intern he could mention. Still, it's the thought that counts, so he soldiers on. It's the least he can do.

Two bites later, he discards it, and begins to excavate the fridge. He hasn't bought anything in a while - he'll have to go on a shopping trip tomorrow. As it is, he makes do with leftovers - last night's pasta bake (from a packet, of course: the best way), topped off with a liberal dose of tomato ketchup. To Erik, everything tastes better with ketchup - everything, be it paste bake, chicken curry, or ice cream.

He eats it off a tray, switching on the television. For a few minutes, he happily channel surfs, spooning tomato flavoured goop into his mouth. Finally, he settles on one. Humming along to 'I dreamed a dream', Erik tells himself that he will not cry - not this time. He's a grown man, and quite above this nonsense. Stupid revolutionaries and their stupid girlfriends and their stupid love triangles will not make him cry - not today, because damn it, he's stronger than this! He can do it! He can!

Halfway through the film, he's sobbing wholeheartedly, whilst cursing his existence in German. Every pen in the flat has been bent out of shape. He levitates one, curling his hand into a fist: it shatters perfectly, nib hitting him in the face.

Upstairs, the banging continues.

 

·

 

He wakes the next morning with a thumping headache, his knees covered in a mixture of gunk and metal, and four missed calls - all from Emma. As it turns out, the remaining text is from her, too. He pockets the phone, casually ignoring them. Emma Frost is many things; tactful is not one of them. And right now, he needs tact (damn France damn Valjean damn it all!). Besides, she'd probably be able to read what he was doing last night down the line. He doesn't need Emma's 'radicals' discovering his little secret.

He rolls over, feeling the remote skewer his back, and checks the clock.

8:45.

Shit.

 

·

 

Breakfast is a rushed affair, consisting of an apple coated in ketchup. (Is it weird? Is it?) He eats it in three bites, cramming the flesh into his mouth, letting the juice (and sauce) dribble down his chin. Erik sprints for the bathroom, brushing his teeth at the speed of light, and nearly forgetting to turn off the taps (nearly - he spins them with a flick of his wrist, from across the room, after making sure he has the curtains drawn).

The suit is yanked from the hanger, and dragged into the bathroom with him. Erik has one of the shortest showers of his life; the shortest being that time under the waterfall, when Emma had dragged him along with her bunch of mutant rights hippies, to 'bathe in the fountains of nature'. Lehnsherr had found it much too cold, but Emma had seemed to enjoy it - then again, she was made of diamond at the time. (It was a very private park. He'd made absolutely certain of that, before Emma had even finished inviting him.)

Steam issues from under the door, accompanied by muffled thumps and bangs. A few seconds lager, the door flies open, to reveal a suited (but not booted) Erik, hair in disarray and a smudge of red on his chin.

8.52.

He has precisely eight minutes to get to work.

It's a half hour drive.

Double shit.

 

·

Erik dives into the car, shoving his briefcase in the back seat, and floors the accelerator. He hits a few bins on his way out, and narrowly avoids flattening a cat; but all's fair in love and war, right? And this definitely counts as war. He can't give Stark an excuse to fire him - any excuse. After all those jibes, he'll be sure to get the sack, and he needs that money; and not only for himself.

It's the best paid job he's ever had, and (boss and meddling interns aside) he actually enjoys it: the metal, humming beneath his fingertips, sending fire through his veins, is enough to put him in a good mood for the rest of the hour. And, for Erik Lehnsherr, that's as good as it gets. On the stereo, a song bursts into life.

"Do you hear the people sing? Singing the songs of angry men. This is the music of a people who will not-"

Erik pulls over, rests his head on the steering wheel, and allows the tears to roll down his cheeks.

 

·

 

At 9.30, Erik arrives at work, shuffling through the lobby in deepest shame. Behind the reception desk, there are multiple titters. (Bobby Drake ducks beneath it, hiding from Erik's outright dastardly stare of doom. One of these days, he's going to teach that upstart a lesson he won't forget.) Unsurprisingly, Stark is waiting for him in the lab, looking impossibly smug. Erik has never wanted to hit anyone so badly in his entire life - bar Shaw, of course. But he doesn't want to shoot his boss, annoying as he may be.

"And what time do you call this?" Tony asks, eyes twinkling. He looks like a demonic father Christmas. Lehnsherr's going to have nightmares; he can imagine them now.

"Late." He pulls open his briefcase, not meeting Stark's gaze, and starts to unpack. The paperweight shakes, ever so slightly.

Please let me carry on please let me do this please don't fire me please please please-

"So, care to give me explanation?" Tony folds his arms over his chest, I'm-such-a-badass-boss mode firmly in place. Erik swallows, throat dry.

Éponine always makes me cry and I had to watch the end so I fell asleep late and I got covered in sauce so please please please don't give me the sack I'll do anything you want thank you very much-

Stark's face is carefully blank, as he continues, a small smile tugging at his lips:  
"I can only assume, given your...current state of attire, that somebody finally got some last night." For a second, Erik's so glad not to be kicked out, the words don't sink in.

Then, they do.

His face falls.

"What?" Stark's own face is a picture of condescension, mixed with unadulterated delight.

"You. Another guy. Sexy times. Any memories appearing? Or were you that drunk?"

"I wasn't drunk!" Erik protests, before noticing exactly how that sounds. "I mean-" Tony holds up a finger, shushing him, eyes alight.

"It's alright - I'm proud of you. Quite frankly, I was starting to get worried. But it's good to know that you've finally taken my advice on board, and gone out into the world. Tell me, what's his name?"

"There is no name! There was no one!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Look, if you want to keep it private, I'll respect that." Tony makes his way over to the door, leaving Lehnsherr gaping in his wake. At the exit, he pauses. "Oh, just to warn you, I've already texted Darcy. Have a nice day, lover boy." And then, with a cackle of glee, the former playboy flees the room.

Erik claws at the air, face flushed.

The bars on the edges of the window shudder.

 

·

 

Lehnsherr locks the door to the laboratory, after pinning a sign in place.

NO PRESUMPTUOUS DICKS, GOSSIPING INTERNS OR MEN NAMED CLINT/BRUCE/LOKI ALLOWED IN THIS ROOM, ON PAIN OF DEATH.

That ought to get the message across. He chews his lip, before scrawling on the bottom-

YES, STARK, THAT DOES INCLUDE YOU.

Erik pushes a chair in front of the entrance. He considers moving the cabinet, but decides against it; too high a chance of being spotted. Just because there aren't any cameras in the lab, it doesn't mean his fortress is impregnable. And then where would he be? Not in this job, that's for sure.

Work does nothing to distract him. He can practically see the rumours flitting around, flying from person to person like wildfire. He was there when Tony rubbed Steve's wrist. According to the gossip mill, Tony gave Steve a private tour of his helicarrier, before being thrown out of a window by Loki, and then into a gigantic whirlpool; after which Steve, naturally, had to provide mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

What will happen to his own supposed 'encounter'? And, more worryingly, what did people say about him beforehand? Then again, he'd rather be a prude than anybody's game. Erik tries to tell himself he's safe - who would want him, anyway?  
It doesn't make him feel any better.

 

·

 

It comes under the door an hour later. Lehnsherr's half-heartedly tinkering with some machinery; his latest design's ready to go, so now he's got time on his hands. That's when he hears the sliding noise. Curious, he glances up from his work, pushing the goggles onto his forehead. There, beneath the door, is a sheet of paper - and it's not one of his. Slowly, he advances towards the door, unlit blow-torch in hand.

As he gets closer, he can see that it's some kind of list - stooping, he picks it up, and reads-

 

_To His Royal Highness El Grandio Douchebag,_

_Get your ass out here pronto, or you're hosting the next gala._

_Yours,_

_Your Beloved Ruler, Emperor Stark_

 

Erik in grits his teeth, crumples the sheet into a ball, and throws it at the wall. It bounces.

 

·

 

When Erik leaves, Tony, Clint and Darcy are waiting for him. "Hey, douche. What took you so long?"

"Work," Lehnsherr replies blandly, channelling Phil for all he's worth, "I finished it."

"That's just what I wanted to hear. I've gotta get going - Steve's in the gym, and I promised I'd give him our own little sparring match." The expression on Tony's face tells Erik everything - and it's not good.

"Too much information," Barton growls, "especially not this late on."

"Aww, you're just jealous, Hawkeye," Tony croons.

"I told you not to call me that!" Just when 'Hawkeye' looks like he's going to shoot Stark with his famous bow and arrow, Darcy (angel that she is) steps in.

"Come on, ladies, settle down."

Erik almost chokes on his own tongue.

"You just quoted Les Mis." Darcy winks at him, eyelashes fluttering.

"'Course I did. Valjean's my fave." Erik gargles something incomprehensible.

"You OK there, rocket man?" Tony asks, a hint of genuine concern creeping into his tone.

"He'll be fine. He's probably spitting at your idiocy."

"Ooh, get you, Hawkeye!"

"I told you not to call me that!"

"Don't touch the goatee! Argh! Darcy!"

"Hey, not my problem, dudes. I'm gone. Coming, Erik?"

Lehnsherr nods mutely, expression glazed; Darcy takes his arm. As she steers him towards the door, in the steel-plated wall, he sees Clint slapping Tony.

Some things never change.

 

·

 

Darcy drops Erik off at his flat, slamming into several dustbins. He's happy to know that he's not the only one. "So, Erik."

"Yes?" Lehnsherr, slowly snapping out of his daze, is awake enough to speak. It's a marked improvement. However, he's not quite stable enough to understand Darcy's intentions.

"What was his name?"

Erik's out of the car like a shot.

 

·

 

He goes straight for the fridge, before remembering that he has a total of one can of baked beans in the entire place. As he's pulling his coat back on, the phone rings.

"Hello?"

"Erik. We need to talk."

"Emma, I'm a little busy right now." Keeping the mobile in the crook of his ear, he jogs down the stairs. It's good exercise, and the lift has been on the blink for months. It's only a matter of time before it breaks down, and some poor sucker gets stuck inside.

"No, you don't understand. This is important."

"And so is my emergency food shopping. I'm out of ketchup."

"Oh woe is you; do you even know what's happening?" Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Erik goes directly for the car. Fortunately, Darcy's left, deciding that a stake-out would be Loki-level odd.

"I've got enough problems, Emma; I don't need any of yours. If Azazel's stubbed his toe, I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do. He's a big boy. He needs to grow up." There's a short, sharp hiss; Erik smiles. Across the street, a pigeon takes one look, and scrams.

"Don't talk about my boyfriend that way!"

"Then don't load me with his issues. We're done. This conversation is over." The car starts up, sputtering into life.

"This isn't about Azazel. Do you even notice the real world?" Lehnsherr turns the radio onto static, wincing, and holds the phone next to it. Emma's voice issues clearly-

"It's about West-"

"Oh, I'm sorry, you're breaking up. Emma? I can't hear-"

"Erik, I know you're there, don't-"

"What was that? I can't - look, we'll speak later; I've got tomato sauce to purchase."

"Erik! Listen to me, turn on th-"

"Don't call me back."

"Erik!" Lehnsherr switches off the phone, tossing it onto the back seat, before edging out of the driveway. Sighing, he leans back in the seat, luxuriating in the softness. He taps along to the compilation CD, gloved fingers rubbing against the material.

"When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drum, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes!"

"Damn it!"

 

·

 

Erik chucks whatever he feels like into his trolley. By the end of the spree, he's bought four bottles of tomato ketchup, three packets of sausage rolls, two bags of apples, a baguette, a jar of pickled onions, and a trashy romance novel. The last item gains him a few odd looks, which he promptly quells. In the car, he spends a good hour parked up, poring over the novella.

Who says he can't have fun?

 

·

 

Back at the flat, Lehnsherr unpacks, attempting to ignore his growling stomach. Whenthat proves futile, he pulls a packet of apples towards him, and replicates breakfast (with the addition of a sausage roll). Sprawled out on the couch and bored with life, he resolves to finish the paperback, and, thus occupied, wile away the evening with the finest pursuit in life - crud reading material.

 

·

 

_"Shane," the woman whispered, clinging tightly to his arm, "Shane, don't go. I can't do this without you." The man pulled his arm away, azure eyes burning into her._

_"You should've thought of that before you left me!" Tears pooled in Sharon's eyes._

·

 

"Bastard," Erik mutters, hurriedly flipping over the page, "who does he think he is?"

 

·

 

_"I never left you, darling. I...I love you." The words flew from her ruby red lips, as she stared up at him, hair framing her face with dark tendrils. Shane looked down at her, skin as pale as snow. His lips were as red as blood._

_"You don't love me, Sharon. I'm a monster."_

 

·

 

"No, you're not! She wants to marry you, man! Just say yes!"

 

·

 

_"I don't care that you're a vampire! I'm still in love with you!" Shane took a breath, staring out into the mist._

_"Sharon, you don't mean that. Please, just go. It's not safe for you to be here."_

 

·

 

"Are you blind? Are you insane? Just say yes!"

 

·

 

_"Shane...I'm so cold," Sharon said, shivering, "please hold me, Shane. If I have to leave, then hold me one last time."_

_"I'm a vampire. I don't give off heat." Sharon looked up at him, from beneath coal-black lashes._

_"The warmth from your heart is enough."_

 

·

 

"Oh, come on! Are you for real? Just kiss her! Do it! Do it now!" Erik's an inch away from simply hurling the book across the room, and having done with it.

 

·

 

_"Do you truly think that?" She took his hand, taking a tentative step towards him._

_"I do." Shane's eyes glowed with desire, as he drew Sharon to his muscular chest. "Kiss me, Shane. Please...one last time."_

_"Sharon, I-"_

 

·

 

Bang!

 

·

 

_"Sharon, I don't know what to-"_

 

·

 

Bang! Thump! Bang!

 

·

 

_"Sharon, I don't know what to say. I want-"_

 

·

 

Bang! Bang! Thump! Thump! Bang!

Erik snaps the book shut, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Are they building up there, or something? But no - there's nobody, in the apartment above. So what's banging? Sighing, Erik turns his attention back to the book. It's probably just the ventilation, or something. If he just ignores it...

 

·

 

_"Sharon, I don't know what to say. I want...I want..."_

_"Then don't say anything." She stared up at him, his porcelain features ethereal and handsome in the moonlight, and felt a powerful tug on her heart. Slowly, she reached up, cupping his face with her hands. He moved into the delicate touch, wrapping his own hands around her waist. Beneath the shining stars, they grew closer, until their lips-_

 

·

 

"Bugger!" 

That wasn't the ventilation. Dropping the novella, Erik stands, still staring upwards, and waits-there's silence. But he definitely heard a cry.

Could it be a burglar? A vampire? Or, worse, a new tenant?

He retakes his seat, rescuing 'Vampires in Venice' from the floor. He opens it.

 

·

 

Beneath the shining stars, they grew closer, until their lips gently brushed-

 

·

 

Could it be a burglar...?

"... _Damn_." 

 

·

 

Erik rings the doorbell of the apartment above, trying to convince himself that this isn't a spectacularly bad idea. There's no sound coming from it, now; could he have imagined it? But no - there was a voice. There's still time - if he runs now, he can be down the stairs in a metaphorical flash. But if he does that, he'll never be able to sleep.

Erik wonders why life hates him. It's cold; the council never got the central heating fixed, so he's had to make do with wearing multiple jumpers, or his warm pyjamas (the only gift Emma's ever got him that he's used). Now, in just his flimsy work clothes, he feels naked. (And that's not a comfortable sensation, thank you very much Tony Stark.)

He pushes the button again - harder, this time, and for longer. Shifting his weight back, he shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet. If he door isn't answered in the next minute, he's going, strange noises or no.

"Just a minute!"

Hang on. That was real. Someone's actually there. He's going to have to talk to someone. A real person. One who doesn't know him, and wasn't warned about his personality. Erik feels himself begin to sweat. What can he say? Sorry, but your banging was disturbing me? Should he go? Should he pretend? What do ordinary people do, in these situations? Why isn't there any metal around to calm him?

Then, behind the wood, there's the sound of shuffling - feet, perhaps? - and a bolt being drawn back.

Erik freezes; the door opens.

And a man looks out.

 

·

 

Erik has had a lot of crushes, in his life - too many to remember, in fact. In his younger years, he fell 'in love' with every boy who crossed his path. He's also had many one night stands; many of which he couldn't remember the morning after. But he's never met anyone - ever - who makes his stomach fill with butterflies, from just one look.

At least, he hadn't met anyone, until now.

 

·

 

"Oh, hello there!" It takes Erik a while to realise the man's a) talking, and b) talking to him. "You must be another tenant!"

The man smiles - a wide, white smile, that sets Erik's body buzzing - while pushing his hair out of his eyes. "I'm sorry, how terribly rude of me - I haven't introduced myself. My name's Charles; Charles Xavier."

"Erik," Lehnsherr somehow replies, regaining control of his senses, "I'm on the floor below."

"Right." Charles seems at a loss of what to do. Erik's mind whirs - say something! Anything! He's going to think you're weird!

"Can I come in?" Charles looks surprised - of course he does, because Erik's just invited himself into his apartment, what is he doing why is he doing this what is happening- "I mean, I'm sorry, I really shouldn't-"

"Of course! Um, I'm sorry, unless-"

"No, it's no worry, but-"

"I know! I'm just not very good-"

"It's alright, neither am I." They both run out of words at the same moment, and simply stand, looking at each other.

"Well, would you like to come in, then?"

"Yes, yes, absolutely."

"OK. Um, yes." Charles remains firmly in the doorway. Embarrassment tugs at Erik's gut.

"Can I go past?" Charles blinks, shaking his head.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was in a world of my own. Follow me, if you could?"

And, spinning on his heel, Charles Xavier disappears into the apartment. Erik gazes at the spot he'd occupied for a moment, uncertain. "Are you coming?"

Nodding, Erik takes command of his brain, and forces himself to step through the doorway.

 

·

 

It's a nice enough place - the same size as Erik's, but far messier. Boxes litter the floor; papers submerge the couch. There's a smell of something, in the air; like burning, except less...bitter, somehow. Erik can't put a name to it; not exactly. Light streams in through the open window, spilling over the apartment, coating everything in silver. Above their heads, the lightbulb flickers. The temperature remains chilling.

"I like it," Erik comments, scanning the flat, "it's cosy." Charles snickers.

"I haven't quite finished yet. I'm hoping to get tidy some time this week...maybe month. I've been moving things around, but..." Despite himself, Erik lets out a laugh, staring at the far wall.

 

_Idiot idiot idiot you shouldn't be here he probably thinks you're a stalker don't stare at him don't stare at him don't don't don't-_

 

"Would you like some tea, Erik?" Lehnsherr starts.

"Yes, please. Thank you." Charles beams, and bustles off into the kitchen. Erik hesitates, before clearing himself a seat on the tan couch. Settling down, he resolves to wait.

 

·

 

There's only so long a man can look at wallpaper for, before he has a nervous breakdown. That time has long since passed, and Charles hasn't emerged from the kitchen. How long can it take to make two cups of tea? Erik drums his foot impatiently, heart thudding. This shouldn't be going on - he should be back downstairs, with his book and Les Mis and ketchup, and absolutely not up here, with a man he barely even knows!

If Emma was in the room, she'd be in hysterics.

From the other room, there's a cry: "Bloody hell!" Before he can think about what he's doing, Erik's on his feet, and pushing open the door.

 

·

 

The space is small, and clean; and it's reasonably empty, too. Empty, apart from a rather attractive young man, bent over on his knees. With his ass facing Erik.

Lehnsherr swallows.

"Charles?" The man in question starts, twizzling around the floor. Lehnsherr tries not to follow his back end, and fails miserably.

"Erik. I'm truly sorry, about all this-"

"Don't be." Crouching, Erik begins to pick up the pottery pieces, placing them in his cupped hands. Tea is soaking between the cracks - but the fragments are more important. "Is there somewhere I can put these?" Xavier nods, cheeks flushed.

"Hang on a second." Still on his knees, he scoots around - and now Erik's got the best view so far. His hands tighten around the shards, as Charles moves forwards, rootling about in a cupboard. "Ah, yes, here we are!" All too soon, his face returns - not that it's an ugly face. In fact, it's pretty much perf-

Stop. Right. There.

Erik drops the remains of the cup into the proferred mini-bin, hoping to whatever deity's watching over him that he's not red.

"Thank you, Erik," Charles says, voice low and lilting and strangely...nice, "I appreciate it."

"Happy I could help," Erik rasps out. Desperately, he attempts to summon moisture back to his throat. Charles watches on, smiling slightly. Suddenly, it strikes Erik that he's kneeling beside a good-looking and possibly single man, and that he's half a foot away from the aforementioned good-looking and possibly single man's face. And lips. And tongue.

If he was Tony Stark, he's sure that he'd have something to say in this situation - probably, knowing Tony, something that would make Charles leap up and make out with him. As it is, he decides that gazing is the safest route; and not moving. At all. On the plus side, Charles isn't moving, either. That has to be a plus, doesn't it?

"Thank you, Erik," Charles repeats, eyes impossibly blue - and the spell's broken. Lehnsherr scrambles up, away from the younger man.

What did he just do he has to keep the secret it's too dangerous get out get out get out-

"I'm sorry," he says, "about the tea, I mean. I'll, err, I've got to go." And with that, he speed-walks away. If he can just make it to the hall-

"Wait! Erik!" His feet grind to a halt, although his mind's screaming at him to run. He angles his body to the left; half-looking at Xavier, half-looking at the wall.

"Charles?" The other man pauses for a moment - to Lehnsherr, it feels like a lifetime.

"I'd like to give you that cup tomorrow...of tea, that cup of tea...I'd like to give you some tea, err, tomorrow...I'm not very good at this, am I?" Erik offers up a small smile, turning more fully. Charles takes a breath; another pause. "What I'm trying to say is, would you like to come round again, tomorrow?"

Charles glances up at him hopefully, twisting a tea-towel between his fingers. There's a small speckle of red, on one side of it. Xavier's eyes flit away, shadowed by dark-eyelashes. Erik's brain short-circuits.

"I know I'm hardly the best host, but-"

"I'd be delighted." Charles grins - a real, sincere grin, so unlike anything he's used to receiving.

"Six o'clock, then? Is that good with you?"

"Absolutely," Erik says - he knows Stark will want him to work late, but that just isn't going to happen-

What are you doing, Lehnsherr?

"Excellent!" Xavier clasps his hands together, meshing the towel between them, as Erik walks into the hallway. "I'll see you then!" And with that, Charles shoves the door shut. The click echoes.

Erik doesn't move for a while, simply...blinking.

When he finally does walk away, he walks a little straighter than before.


	2. Chapter 2

Erik opens his eyes, stretching out his body beneath the covers, as his hand finds the alarm. Sunlight shines on him - he must have forgotten to draw the curtains last night. Why would he do that? Well, he had been pretty tired, after agreeing to meet up with Charles.

Charles.

He's meeting Charles. He's having tea with Charles. He's got a date with Charles.

He's got a date with Charles Xavier.

Erik rolls over onto his back, smile still in place, before tumbling out of the bed. Literally.  
He shouldn't be doing this - and he knows it.

And yet, he can't wipe the grin off his face.

 

·

 

In the shower, he groans, examining the bruises on his thigh; but even they aren't enough to dampen his mood. Mussing up his hair, Erik turns his face to the spray, teeth shining. Today's going to be a good day. He can feel it. Stumbling out, he runs his hands down his face, peering into the mirror. A little lined, a little year-worn, but nothing too shabby.

In fact, he might go so far as to say that he looks...quite good. Not exceptional - not Charles standard - but...fairly handsome. Not that he is, Erik assures himself - it's probably just this thing, changing his perceptions.

It's a groovy sensation.

 

·

The car is warm, and smells faintly of must. Erik removes Les Mis, and turns on the radio. Winding down the windows, he lets warm air blow inside, as he crawls through the traffic. He doesn't even mind the dirty looks he gets from pedestrians. Erik's on top of the world (even though he knows it can't last).

 

·

 

"Hey, lover boy. How's your hubby?" Tony grins that shit-eating grin - and somehow, Erik can't bring himself to care.

"There's nobody, Tony." Stark takes a step back, putting his hand on his heart.

"Tony? Not Stark? Not asshole?" The inventor moves forward again, still clutching his chest.

"This man has mellowed you. I need to meet him. And possibly marry him." Erik scowls; but he can't make it as threatening as he'd liked. This really isn't good.

"Don't push your luck," Lehnsherr threatens, "or I'll mess up the order on purpose. How did last night go?" Tony looks...shell-shocked.

"You're asking...about my night." Erik nods, very slowly.

"Yes, Stark, I am. You've caught me in a rare mood. Don't waste it."

"This...this is big. This is really big. I need to show Steve. And Darcy. And the universe."

"Do anything of the kind, and you'll never find my prototypes again."

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

"You know you love me really." Erik turns away, placing down a pair of pliers.

"You can either tell me about your date, or you can get the hell out of my workshop."

"Wow...OK, OK, I'm going..." Tony clears his throat, before continuing: "Do you know about my jet?"

 

·

 

Lehnsherr turns off the TV in the break room, and basks in the quiet. Throwing himself onto a sofa, he closes his eyes, singing softly to himself.

"Master of the house, quick to catch your eye, never wants a passer-by to pass him by. Servant to the poor, but-"

A pointed cough breaks the quiet - Erik sits up, eyes opening. A man leans against the wall, looking much more amused than he should. He's grizzly - something about him reminds Lehnsherr of woodlands. (It could be the leaf-smelling vest.)

"Good morning, bub?"

"You can say that again." Erik moves into a sitting position. "How's Stark been treating you?" The man shrugs, plopping down beside him.

"He can't do wrong by me - I'm his lawyer. Logan." They shake hands, on the battered sofa, as the clock ticks away on the wall. 11.58.

As Erik draws away, his palm fizzes.

"Erik." Logan nods, lip quirking upwards.

"So, Erik...you like Les Mis?"

"Oh, yeah. Yourself?" Logan shrugs, again.

"Not my thing...prefer Mamma Mia, myself." They share a grin; Erik thinks they could get along. Logan, after all, has taste.

 

·

 

"Hey, Erik." Steve runs his eyes over the counter top; Erik tries not to collapse with hilarity. It's been that kind of a day.

"Good afternoon, Steve." The man nods, tapping his fingers on the desk.

"So...did you hear about Westchester?"

"No."

"Have you seen Tony?"

"Last I saw of him, he was looking for you. Said he had some shopping to do."

"Shopping?" Apparently, Stark's boyfriend is as baffled as Erik was. "Why would he need to do that?"

"I have no idea." And he doesn't - but, if the world was coming to an end, he cod hazard a guess. Erik keeps it to himself - he's a good friend, like that.

"Thanks, Erik."

"I didn't help. You don't have to thank me." Rogers smiles; and, for a moment, Lehnsherr knows precisely why Stark fell for him.

"Thanks anyway."

"You're welcome."

 

·

 

Erik stops by the park, after work's over. He wanders along the path, gravel crunching under his shoes, until he reaches the bench where he sometimes perches. The sun slowly lowers in the sky, as Erik watches the ripples spreading outwards, obscuring his features. A bin lorry beeps in the background; a raven flutters away in response, cawing loudly. By the waterside, a couple walk, hand in hand. It's peaceful. Lehnsherr lies along the bench lengthways, locks his hands behind his head, and closes his eyes.

The daydream isn't any different than usual; he's sitting on the bench, waiting for another man. It's the same as every other - or, at least, it should be. But there's one marked difference: one element that sets it apart from all the rest. In this fantasy, he knows exactly who's about to walk around the corner.

"Hello, Erik," Charles says from beside him, "how are you?"

"I'm fine - same as usual. What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. What's wrong?" Erik sighs, running a hand down his face.

"I'm scared."

"Of what? Me?"

"No...change."

When Lehnsherr opens his eyes, the couple have vanished, and he's alone.

 

·

 

Now that the moment has finally arrived, Erik has no idea what to do. He's in front of his wardrobe, willing an appropriate outfit to magically appear. Nothing happens. The suit's too formal, the jogging bottoms aren't formal enough...this morning, picking out clothes had seemed an easy task. It's almost funny, looking back on it. Lehnsherr wonders if Charles would mind if he came in pyjamas.

Erik tells himself to calm down - it's 5.29. He's got thirty one - no - thirty minutes, to get dressed. He'd showered laboriously, coating every part of himself in soap; he'd even found the perfume Emma had given him last Christmas, and sprayed some on. He isn't sure whether it makes him smell much better; however, he's willing to give anything a try. The brush had sent his hair into jagged spikes - but that was inevitable.  
Something at the bottom of the cupboard catches his eye - a swathe of darkness, on the otherwise dull shelf.

Thank you, God.

 

·

 

Erik's heart is pounding, as he walks up the stairs. Has he put too much effort in? Charles invited him round for tea, not to have sex! Tugging on the dark polo-neck, Lehnsherr resists the urge to tear it off, and dart away. One step. Another. Another. Charles doesn't even like him - and if by some miracle he does, it's in a purely platonic kind of way. Obviously, that little skint in the kitchen didn't mean anything - to anyone other than him.

One step. Another. Another.

Can he do this? There's so much at stake. If Charles even guessed - but no, it won't go that far. He's got no reason to panic.

One step. Another. Another.

It's just tea, for crying out loud! It's not world peace! The metal girders on the stairs tremble - Erik takes in oxygen, filling his lungs.

One step. Another. Another.

He can't do this. One step. Another. Another.

He should go back. It isn't safe.

One step.

He's in front of the door. He can do this. It'll be fine. What could possibly go wrong? Apart from the fact that he could give up his freedom, if he lost control once - get sent to Westchester - never come back out...Erik rests his left arm on the door, leaning on it. One knock. One push of the bell. That's all it takes. He can do it. It will all work out in the end.

One push. One step. Another. Another.

His finger hovers over the bell. Raising his eyes to heaven, he thinks: if there's anyone up there, please make this work. Shutting his lids tightly, he curls his left fist-

And presses the button.

The door is flung open. "Erik!" Startled, he trips forward, arms out-

And Charles is in front of him, stumbling back-

And Lehnsherr's hands make contact with shoulders-

And Charles misses a step-

And no no no no no-

 

·

 

He lands heavily, hands impacting against the wooden floor. For a second, the spike of pain is all he can think about.

It's a beautiful second.

Because after it, he's aware of where he is.

As in, straddling Charles, and pinning the other man to the floor.

Charles's outer legs are pressed against his shins; his hands are resting, lightly, on Erik's chest. The light turns Charles's eyes electric blue - if they weren't bad enough to begin with. Bad, in this case, equalling lust-worthy.

And Erik can't move. He's frozen. Panting. On top of Charles.

This is the worst day of his life. Ever.

"I'm really, really sorry, please forgive my unwanted and unwarranted accidental sexual advances, I'm going to move to Cuba," he tries to say, but it comes out as: "Charles."

It's official, Erik decides; there is no God. Now Charles is going to push him away - why else would those hands still be there? - and he'll have no chance. None at all. And even though Charles is warm, and (perhaps) pliant, and (definitely) beneath him, he won't be able to touch him. And then Erik will go back down into his hole, and he'll cry and eat ketchup and murder everyone who comes his way - and then maybe he'll go on a vengeance mission, and kill everyone who's ever hurt him, starting and ending with Shaw.

"Erik," Charles says, in a breath; and Erik's legs turn to jelly. If he stays there any longer, he'll actually fall on top of Charles. Not good. Very not good.

He doesn't move.

"Charles," he says again, slightly more coherently, "I..." Breathing is proving a lot more difficult than usual, Erik's finding. He's not entirely sure what to do about it.

"Erik..." Charles applies a little more pressure to Erik's chest - really, it's a feeble push. "I...I should tell you...to...to get off...me..."

"You should," Erik agrees. He doesn't get off. Charles doesn't push any harder.

"I...I don't want you to." Charles avoids meeting his eyes, staring at a random point in the middle distance, as Lehnsherr sucks in a breath.

"You don't?" he asks - just to make sure.

"No," Charles admits, still resolutely not looking at him, "I probably should, though."

"Ah."

"I mean, I don't even know you."

"Yes."

"And I let you into my home."

"Yes."

"And I tried to make you tea...and I didn't."

"Yes. I'm sure it would've been a decent cup."

"Yes, I am, too. I'm rather good at making tea, if I do say so myself."

"Are you indeed."

"That's not the point." Charles jabs Erik with his finger, sending little tingles around his body. "The point is...ah..."

"I helped you?"

"Precisely. You were very...gentlemanly."

"Gentlemanly?" Erik's been called many things in his life. This is the first time he's heard the word 'gentlemanly' used in connection with himself.

"Yes. Rather Mr Darcy-esque, in my view." Erik's heart is racing at a billion miles per hour; but when he speaks, his voice is nearly level.

"I've always preferred Mr Rochester. He seems a good sort of chap." Charles nods, as though debating which literary love interest you like best, whilst being pressed against another man, is perfectly normal.

"He's a little too broody, for my tastes. Mr Darcy was my teenage crush." As this sinks in (Charles is gay Charles likes guys I'm in with a chance), Erik says:

"Mine, too." And it's true - really, that diving scene should've been classed as queer-baiting...although it baited straight women, as well. You couldn't go wrong with a dripping Colin Firth.

"I thought you liked Mr Rochester?" Erik manages to shrug - an impressive feat, considering the position he's in, and how hot the room's become.

"I didn't find out about him until university. I was a sheltered child."

Sheltered by bleeding fingers, worked to the bone. Sheltered by scraping money together, for Shaw's payments. Sheltered by a youth lost, by his mother's debts and Shaw's deceit.

Charles seems to find something about the statement funny - his body shakes, as he laughs.

"Oh, were you, now?"

"What did I say?"

"Nothing, nothing." Erik purses his lips.

"Right. I'd better get off you."

"Yes, I suppose you had." Erik may be imagining the note of wistfulness in Charles's voice - or he may not. It's hard to tell: he's more than a little distracted.

"I don't want to."

"You don't?"

"No." Charles nods, sagely. Lehnsherr can feel himself transforming into a tomato. Did he really just say that? And then Charles's hands arrive on his hips.

Long fingers play over the fine bones (jutting from beneath the trousers), as Erik grinds his teeth together, his thoughts a rapid rush of _Charles want Charles want need want Charles need need want Charles-_

"My friend...do you want this?" Erik jerks back; Xavier's eyes are clouded. What is he, a telepath? "If you don't, I-"

"Don't speak," Erik snaps, before dipping his head down, hovering an inch away from Charles's lips. "Do we want the same thing?" he murmurs. Charles's breath is hot on his face, as he answers-

"God, yes. Yes, yes, yes-" He's cut off by Erik's kiss - delving deep into his mouth, playing over his teeth, burning and passionate and everything Erik has ever dreamed about. Charles responds in kind, deepening it further (if that's possible), gripping the other man's hips with his hands, nipping at the raw skin on the edge of his lips.

Charles, needless to say, is a fantastic kisser.

Erik hangs on tight, attempting to keep control, but Charles is so strong, pushing at him; and then breaking off, to wrap hands around Erik's arms, and shove him onto his thighs, then onto his back. He moans slightly, when his back hits the floor; Charles positions himself above Lehnsherr, hands on his shoulders, and says:

"You're very good at this."

"Thank you," Erik gasps, "you're not too bad yourself." Xavier looks faintly surprised.

"No? I haven't had too much practise."

"It seems to me that you've had lots." Charles cocks his head to one side.

"Well, I suppose that's a good thing," he comments, and dives in again. This time, there's no need for words.

 

·

 

Outside, low moans can be heard.

 

In Erik's apartment, the ceiling rattles.

 

·

 

Erik groans, extending his limbs over the bed. He feels as though he's run for miles - which is strange, because he'd stayed in last night...

But he didn't stay in. He went to Charles's flat, and-

 

_Sweat. Teeth. Kisses._

 

"Good morning, Erik. You do look sexy today." Charles lies on the bed, head propped up by his hand, a sheet covering his lower half; his midriff is bare. Lehnsherr runs his eyes down it-

 

_Fumbling with buttons-_

_"Careful, that's my...my best shirt...oh, Erik, yes-"_

_Smoothing his hands over pale skin, as it burns beneath his touch-_

 

"Erik?"

Lehnsherr snaps his jaw shut.

"That did happen, didn't I? I didn't just...imagine it, or something."

"Do I look imaginary?" Xavier chuckles as he speaks, waving a hand over his body.

"I could be dreaming," Erik points out, "this does seem too good to be true." Charles's azure - and yes, they are azure, it's the best word for them - eyes gleam.

"I'll have to prove it to you, then," he sighs heavily, cupping Erik's cheek with his hand. "I was hoping we could skip to the kissing part, but if you'd like a lengthy explanation-"

"No, I think I can believe it," Erik grins, before surging forwards, and shoving Charles onto the mattress. Xavier squeaks in protest, slapping at his arms.

"That's not fair! I wasn't ready!"

"Life's not fair," Erik shoots back, before merging their mouths. Xavier runs his fingers through Lehnsherr's hair, as Erik twists his head to the side, allowing for a better purchase. Charles's breath hitches.

"Erik," he moans, digging his fingernails into the skin on Lehnsherr's back, "Erik." Erik rolls to the left, dragging Charles with him, until they're on their sides, facing each other. Carefully, he strokes a hand down Charles's face, pulling it over his heart. Erik can feel it beating - it's wonderfully fast. He's sure his heart is beating just as quickly, tripping over itself, banging against his sternum, rib-cage, even spine.

"I could do this all day," is Charles's next announcement, followed by: "Do you have to go to work?"

"No," Erik replies instantly; then, he thinks about it, and amends it to: "Yes."

"Couldn't you just...stay off?" Charles looks so hopeful; it kills Erik to refuse.

"I need the money. My mother..." He trails off.  
Needs it to get out of debt. Needs it to escape Shaw, and his money lenders. Needs it more than I do.

Judging by Charles's shadowed eyes, the words speak for themselves. "I'm sorry." As if that helps.

Charles will probably realise what massive waste of time this is; see that he could do so much better, and leave, taking a part of Erik's heart with him. And Charles could do better - so very, very easily. All he'd have to do was smile that smile, and every boy in the city would come running. Erik's chest twists at the thought of it.

"Could I come in with you?"

"What?" Charles takes Erik's face in his hands, fingers skimming the faint stubble. Erik wraps his arms around Xavier's waist, removing the remaining space between them.

"I wouldn't be any trouble...I'd be happy just to wait. Besides, I could give you something to look forward to on your break." Erik forgets how to speak, due to the sheer number of images connecting Charles's arched brow to his last sentence.

"I...yes, I'd like that." Charles grins - it's even more perfect up close.  
"Wonderful," the younger man murmurs, and Erik just can't help himself - he kisses him again.

 

·

 

Erik has to go down to his apartment to get dressed. Charles has to shove him out the door; Erik leans back in, grinning, until Xavier mashes their lips together, in a warm flurry. Erik practically skips into his home, before yanking on whatever clothes he can find. He doesn't even think about breakfast; at least, not until he's halfway up the stairs to Charles's flat. Luckily, Charles had that base covered.

The smell of frying bacon wafts down the stairs. Erik increases his pace, heart singing, soaring, swooping.

Charles greets him in the kitchen - the same kitchen where they first...what? And could it only have been the night before last? It seems like much, much longer.

"I made bacon butties...I hope that's alright. I didn't have very much in, so I had to improvise. You do like them, don't you?" Erik nods, throat sealed - because Charles, who's only known him for three days (and not even that, technically), is making him bacon butties...with ketchup. And is willing to kiss him. And go into work with him. And be in an actual Steve-Tony-style relationship (although that's hardly what he wants to base his life around) with him. It's...it's...it's too good. Erik Lehnsherr doesn't deserve this. Charles is too...good.

And Erik's too broken.

"Erik?" Charles is so concerned, it takes Erik want to hold him, and never let go; and tell him that this is the real deal, and that he might just be in love with him.

"I don't deserve you." Charles places the spatula down, crossing the kitchen in a heartbeat.

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

"You're making me sandwiches. You don't even know me. I'm...I...I don't deserve you."

"You weren't saying that last night." Xavier crosses his arms over his chest, resolute.

"That wasn't the same."

"Why? Didn't it matter to you, Erik?" Charles's face remains blank, apart from the twitch in the corner of his eye. Erik hurriedly back-pedals. (The hands on the clock judder - Xavier doesn't seem to notice.)

"Of course it did! Of course it mattered!"

"Then how is this any different? Explain it to me."

"I..." And, for once, Erik Lehnsherr has no words.

"Precisely," says Charles, as though he's just won a great philosophical argument, "so, you're going to stop with the nonsense, and eat the breakfast I made for you. And then I'm going to go into work with you, and be a good boyfriend, and do normal, everyday things. And I'm going to do them with you, because you're the man I want to do them with. Alright?"

"Alright." Charles grins crookedly, moving back over to the counter, and squeezing a swirl of ketchup onto Erik's bun.

"Eat up. You've got a long day ahead of you."

 

·

 

Charles clambers into Erik's car, snapping the door shut. "I must admit, this is a new experience for me."

"Being in a car?" Lehnsherr could hardly believe that - not in this city. Xavier chuckles, smoothing down a stray lock. Erik's fingers itch to help.

"No...travelling with someone. With you." Lehnsherr backs out of the driveway, doing his very best to avoid the obstacles. By some miracle, he glides smoothly away. He could punch the air.

"Is it living up to your expectations?"

"I could think of a way to improve it." Erik glances at the rear-view mirror; Charles stares out of the window, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Oh, really? How so?" There's a warm pressure on Erik's thigh. He directs his gaze straight ahead, desperately trying to maintain focus. The road, the road, think about the road-

Charles's fingers dig in, hard enough to bruise. Lehnsherr groans.

"This isn't fair."

Charles bats his lashes, overly coyly.

"Life isn't fair."

Erik takes a great, snorting gulp of air; Charles imitates him, accurately - and then the floodgates are opened. Lehnsherr bends over the wheel, howling with laughter.

They're still giggling when they arrive, Stark Tower looming over them.

 

·

 

"This is where you work?" Charles leans against the workbench, casually playing with random objects. Erik is tempted to stop him...but he doesn't. Instead, he encircles Charles's wrist with his hands, fingers hovering over the pulse-point.

"It's the best I can get. Stark may be an ass, but he's an ass with good taste." Xavier snickers, placing his free hand on top of Lehnsherr's.

"Who's an ass?" The words echo through the room, shattering the moment. Erik draws slowly back; Charles rubs his wrist, smiling. Tony Stark sails inside, resplendent in white, and looking for all the world as though he'd had his ten hours last night - which, knowing Steve, definitely didn't occur. "Not me, I hope."

He draws to a halt beside Erik, lifting his sunglasses onto his forehead. His eyes rake up and down Charles, assessing him, appraising him.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Erik's boyfriend. What is your name? He wouldn't say." Charles, bless his heart, is only phased for a moment; his mouth opens and closes, before he replies:

"I'm Charles Xavier. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr...?"

"Stark, but you can call me Tony. I have to say, it's refreshing to meet someone who doesn't know me." Charles smiles politely, and Erik's about to throttle his boss, pay-cut be damned. "Cool it, Lehnsherr, I'm not about to jump him. I, for one, am officially Steve Rogers' property." Erik uncurls his fists.

"Don't tell me...you're getting married," Erik snorts, picking up a manuscript.

"Right first time, rocket man." Erik drops the papers, leaving an amused Charles to scoop them up. Lehnsherr's too busy gaping. OK, maybe he had an inkling this was going to happen - but proof is an entirely different thing.

Steve and Tony...married...as husbands. Married.

"What?" Stark holds up his left hand. The ring glints in the light - it's solid gold (of course), from what Lehnsherr can tell. (Steve must've refused platinum.)

"Come on, even you must know what this means, Magneto." Stark's eyes widen. "Hey, Magneto! It suits you!"

"You're...engaged." Tony's beam glows - in the background, Charles laughs softly.

"Yep. I'm gonna be Mr Rogers-Stark."

"You let him put his name first?" Tony grabs the edge of the desk, fake-fainting; Xavier dodges out of the way, and moves to Erik's side. Their fingers interlock; Charles runs his thumb down Lehnsherr's palm. If Stark notices, he doesn't say - he's too busy with the performance. The day Tony Stark became an inventor, the stage lost a great actor.

"You wound me, Lehnsherr! Steve's the best thing that ever happened to me...I'm serious. It's just my way of giving back, I guess." Stark rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. "The thing is, I've never...you know...been with someone for more than a week, before Steve..."

"Pepper was eight days, you said," Erik points out, feeling Charles's warmth flow through him.

"Yeah, but Peps ran off with my wing-man. That sucked."

"At least she didn't try to shoot you."

"Ah, Nat was only playing."

"Bruce had to wrestle the hand-gun off her."

"I'm just glad she didn't get the machete. Man, that girl was fierce." Stark smiles fondly, before shaking himself from the memory. "Anyway, it's all in the past now. Forgive and forget, right? Hey, Xavier, what do you think?"

There's a moment of stillness. "I think you should be happy you met Steve," Charles replies, "Whoever he is, he sounds like a good man."

"Yeah. Yeah, he is." Tony's obviously fallen back into a daydream. "He's a great guy."

"I should think so," is Erik's contribution, as Stark snaps back into reality. The regular grin is in place in a second.

"So, Charles...have I told you about my jet?"

 

·

 

"Erik Lehnsherr!" The voice booms through the lab. Charles springs out of his book, placing it down on the table, as Erik's body tenses.

"Who is it?" Charles asks in an undertone, eyes fixed on the door. Erik clutches his goggles tightly, sending cracks down the frames.

"Emma," he replies, equally quietly, "keep your head down, unless you want to get torn to shreds."

"I can deal with her. I've had worse." Erik looks at Charles - really looks; looks at the sea-blue cardigan, and the shiny shoes, and the swept back hair: nothing about him is even remotely tough.

"Do you support the MRM?" Lehnsherr grabs the shorter man's shoulders; because this is an important one for him, too. Charles looks right back.

"The Mutant Rights Movement?"

"No, Charles, the Manhattan River Mole."

"No need to be tetchy!"

"No need to be naive! And do you?" Erik holds his breath. "Well, it's methods are a little...odd, for my tastes. However, I do support the principal. We're all equal. How about you, Erik?" Charles looks wide-eyed, and...nervous?

It's official. Charles isn't a believer. He's going to be executed.

"I adore you," Erik says, "and because I adore you, I'm going to do this."

 

·

 

"Emma...what brings you here?" The woman strides into the room, near six feet of heels and attitude, and stalks to Erik's side. she's proud; blonde; regal. Somehow, when Erik looks at her, his mind always gravitates back to exoric royalty. She's a lioness, from  some far off land, many seas away. He does his level best not to whimper.

"You wouldn't answer your phone. I called eight times, Erik. Eight. I even had Azazel text you. What were you doing?"

Sweet touches, sweeping across his skin.

"Erik...Erik..."

Charles's legs wrapping around him, as Erik pushes him against the wall, arms straining, heart thumping-

 

_Falling onto the bed, entangled-_

_Gentle kisses, submerged beneath the heat and the fire and the utter_ rightness _of it all-_

 

"I was busy."

Emma huffs, tossing her hair. That hair toss has always made Darcy jealous, much to Erik's amusement. He's pretty sure Darcy has a gigantic crush on the blonde, lock-flicking giantess - but then again, that girl has a crush on everything attractive that moves.(Mental note: never leave Charles alone in a room with the intern.)

"Why are you here?"

"I've come to tell you about Westchester. You know what that is, don't you?"

"Government centre - home of the last known mutants in the US." His words are chipped, and brittle.

"Yes, and..." Emma breaks off, scanning the room. "Erik, why do you have a man in the cupboard?" Lehnsherr mentally buries his head in his hands.

"Does that mean I can come out? It's awfully stuffy in here, and I'm just a tad claustrophobic." Emma looks from Erik to the cupboard, and back again.

"Care to explain?"

"I had to try to save him from your lectures. It was a kindness, really."

"Doesn't bloody feel like kindness," retorts the cupboard, "I've got half a dozen boxes on my feet."

"Come on out," Emma says, voice sickly-sweet, "I don't bite."

There are a few seconds of muted banging - Erik flinches - and then Charles emerges, bringing down a stack of documents with him. Coughing, he surveys the mess he's made, wiping dust off his coat. "I have to say, I've been happier with you, Erik."

"Sorry," Erik says, not sounding sorry in the slightest. Charles doesn't seem too bothered; he offers up a smile, directly at Lehnsherr.

"All's we'll that ends well, isn't it? It wasn't too bad."

"I'm glad of it."

"Oh dear," Emma says, "you haven't told him, have you?"

"Haven't told him what?" Charles and Erik say, precisely in sync. Emma raises an eyebrow.

Erik's heart begins to race.

She won't she won't tell him she's practically my sister she won't she - oh my God she will-

"You boys have a lot of working out to do. I'll say my piece, and then I'm gone. Erik, you know I was talking about Westchester?"

"Yes?" Erik snaps, fear bringing him to the limit.  
"They've released some of the mutants."

Erik's heart stops.

"That's impossible."

"It's true - it's all over the news. Honestly, I'm amazed you haven't heard it." Erik slumps into a chair, feet unable to take the strain.

"Why?" Not 'why didn't I hear about this?' - 'why is this happening?'.

"An experiment. They want to see if mutants and humans can integrate."

"It'll never work."

"It might. Look." Emma holds up her phone; Erik peers at the words on the screen, half-hoping it's just a prank, a dare, a game. True, he'll have to murder Emma afterwards, but-

 

·

 

_WESTCHESTER RELEASES INMATES_

_Article by Hank McCoy_

_On the morning of the first of February, the Westchester Mutant Facility carried out with their controversial scheme - to release a group of supposedly safe mutants, into the outside world. In a speech he gave today, Sebastain Shaw, the co-founder of the establishment, defined the plans as 'a thoroughly evaluated test, to see if mutant-human integration is worth investigation'._

_The identities of the mutants who exited the facility have been left a mystery - much to the consternation of the public. Colonel Ross, head of the Humanitarian Resources Military Department, described it as 'a breach of our human rights' He continued by saying: "Who knows what these mutants can do?" However, according to the facility, the five mutants released have 'passed all tests necessary', and 'are more than willing to serve the country'._

_A year long plan has been outlined, during which the aforementioned mutants will live in secure, and unknown, destinations throughout the city. If the trail is deemed successful, then the current plan will be extended, perhaps indefinitely. This project has the full support of the President, who stated that: 'this was a glorious day for America, and for the human race'.  
_

_Many, however, do not share this view. In an interview immediately after the mutants were..._

 

·

 

Emma switches off the screen.

Charles's breath hitches.

Erik speaks first.

"They...how? How can they have let them out? They never..."

Once you go through the gates, there's no coming back out. That's what Shaw told him - what he always said.

Get me the money, or I'll hurt your mother.

Get me the money, or I'll send you to Westchester.

Erik can't think. Won't.

"It could happen," Charles says, "as long as they don't make mistakes." As he says the last word, he looks straight at Emma. "As long as nobody gives them away."

Erik feels like a fish, caught in a battle between two sharks; and from the way Emma's looking at Charles, he can guess that Xavier is the bigger predator.

He isn't sure whether to be amazed, or terrified.

"Yes, I can see that," Emma replies, "and I don't think anyone will."

"Alright, what's going on?" Nobody answers Erik's question. "Hello? Charles?"

"You're going to tell him," Emma says, "or I will."

"Tonight," Xavier returns, "and that's a promise." Erik wants to scream. Or cry. Or burst into song.

"Tell me what?"

"Nothing." This time, it's Charles and Emma's turn to be synchronised.

"Right." Erik has no idea what's going on - and quite frankly, he's not sure he wants to. (But really, he actually rather definitely does.) "The truth. Now."

Charles takes a breath, as Emma steps back. "I would say this was lovely, but it wasn't. Goodbye, Erik. I'll be seeing you again." She doesn't bother with Charles, but simply struts away, heels clicking on the tiled floor. Erik looks across at Charles. In his ears, he can hear blood rushing, streaming like water.

His stomach ties itself in knots - and he can't breathe again.

"Charles...what haven't you told me?"

"I...can we go home, please?" Charles's orbs are earnest - entreating.

Erik nods. (He can't say no.)

 

·

 

Charles is silent, now. It's so different from the morning, when they were both laughing, free as the wind. Now, Erik can't think - can't speak. What would he say?

 

_What do you have to tell me, Charles?_

_How do I explain why Emma knows your secrets?_

_(How do I explain that she can read your mind?)_

_Why didn't you do it sooner?_

_What don't you want me to know?_

_Why does this matter more than Westchester - more than anything?_

_(Are you leaving me?)_

_(Was it all in my head?)_

_Did you-_

 

Erik stops the car, turning the key in the ignition. There's silence - a complete, deathly hush. Charles looks out of the window, as though the secrets of the universe can be found there.

"You'll hate me, after this." Xavier sounds so certain of it; Erik can't find words.

How could I hate you?

(How could I ever hate you?)

I've known you for three days, and I want you by my side.

Do we want the same thing?

"I won't." And he knows it's true. Charles smiles - a small, weak smile - a mere shadow of that first time.

"You will. You won't want to be around me."

"I'll always want to be with you. I want you by my side."

"You won't." Erik's frustration builds; Charles barks out a laugh, but there's no humour in it.

"Believe me, my friend, you will not."

"How am I supposed to know that, if you won't even tell me what it is?" Lehnsherr's shouting, now - he can't keep the anger down. Xavier looks so tired; about to give in.

What right does he have?

What can he think of me?

"Erik...when I show you, you've got to promise you won't...panic."

"Panic?" Lehnsherr echoes, confused, "Why would I panic?"

Charles smiles again, weakly.

"Because of what I'm going to do." Charles raises his fingers upwards - his hand shakes, as they make a V, pressed against his forehead. For a second, Erik is baffled - is Charles swearing at him?

And then-

 

_Erik, I need you to listen to me._

 

Erik's eyes grow to the size of dinner plates; because there's a voice, there's a voice in his head, and it's lulling and soothing and raw, and it's speaking to him, and it's not his own.

It's not his voice.

Charles's voice. In his head.

 

_Calm your mind._

 

Erik clutches the wheel, doubled over.

 

_What what why didn't you tell me how could you-_

 

"How...?"

 

 

"I'm a telepath."


	3. Chapter 3

I'm a telepath - three little words, with the capacity to destroy worlds. Or, at least, do some severe damage. Erik never has been the dramatic type. Somewhere, Erik thinks there's a clock, ticking away - tick tick, tick. Charles still won't look across. Lehnsherr's eyes bore holes in him-

 

_Look at me look at me look at me Charles-_

 

And his head's spinning, spinning with the revelation-

 

_Why didn't you say I wouldn't have - I would - look at me Charles-_

 

And he's sinking, sinking beneath the waves, pulled low by murky tides-

 

"You should have told me."

"How could I?"

"You should have said."

"I'm sorry."

 

_Please, my friend, forgive me._

 

"Get out of my head, Charles," Erik says, heart racing, thundering-

 

_How much else does he know?_

 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so very, very sorry. I'll...I'll just-"

And then Charles is reaching across, pulling at the door handle, pushing it open-

 

_No._

 

Erik grabs his wrist, yanking him back into the car. Charles's eyes widen.

"Please, Erik...don't...I can't..." Xavier tugs at his wrist; Erik doesn't release it.

"Shut the door, and I'll let go." Charles swallows. "Shut the door, Charles."

Xavier complies. For a moment, neither of them move.

"I wanted to tell you, Erik...but-"

"You're from Westchester." It's not a statement - it's an accusation.

"Yes."

"You know Shaw." An expression flies across Xavier's face - something indefinable, which is gone as soon as it appears, not leaving Erik time to question it.

"Yes."

"You...why didn't you say something?" Erik allows his pain - some of it - to cloud his features.

Charles recoils, hands clenching.

"How can you say that, Erik? How can you? For all I knew, you could have hated me!"

"How could you think that about me? You should know better!" Erik snarls, heat rushing to his face.

"I met you three days ago! That's hardly enough time to make a decent judgment!"

"I thought-"

 

_Thought you knew me._

_Thought you felt the same way._

_Thought we had something._

 

"I...I thought..."

Charles is angry, now - Erik can see it in his eyes, rising to the surface. Good - he needs to let go of this frustration, this anger, this pain - it's threatening to break him.

"What did you think, Erik? Because I thought you cared about me!"

"If you really thought that, you'd have known I wouldn't have cared!" Erik yells back, tightening his grip on Charles's wrist. "You would've known I'd never have left!"

"How could I?" Erik snorts, dropping Charles's arm.

"You're a telepath. You know everything about me, don't you?" When did his voice become so cold? Suddenly everything's making a lot more sense. In a way, he's relieved - relieved that he doesn't have to mind, anymore. He's broken. It doesn't matter what Charles claims - he can't be fixed. "That's how you knew just what to do, isn't it? Just how to make me...feel. It was all a game to you, wasn't it? A way to get kicks, before you got dragged back into-"

"I NEVER LOOKED!"

Erik starts, head flying up. Charles's body is tense - every line is sharp, and clear. His eyes are dark. "I never looked! I wanted...I don't know what I wanted! I wanted a normal life! I wanted to get a normal job, and meet normal people, and make normal friends! I wanted to be able to walk down a road, without someone tackling me! I wanted...I don't know!" Charles runs his hands through his hair, teeth ground together, before he continues:

"I wanted to live, Erik. That's all I wanted. And...and then I met you, and you were..." Charles chuckles, watching a bird fly overhead, a black smear against the dusky sky. "You were everything. Everything I hadn't thought I needed...but I did. I needed you, Erik. And I had no idea whether you were a mutantphobe, or whether you had a record, or what your favourite drink was - and I didn't want to know." He stresses the last four words, staring at Lehnsherr. Erik can only stare back.

"I didn't want to know, because I wanted to find out. I wanted to learn about you, and what you did for a living, and how you liked your coffee. I wanted to know all these things and...and I didn't even know you. And then I tried to make tea, and I was thinking about you, and I dropped...I dropped the bloody thing, because...and you were so perfect...are so perfect...and I looked at you, down there on the floor, and I thought: here's someone I could spend the rest of my life with. Here's someone I could really care about. Here's someone I could...I could..."

"You could what, Charles? You could what?" And somehow, this seems a whole lot more important than everything else - than the secrets, and Shaw, and the lies. Somehow, this seems to be the only thing that matters in the entire universe.

"Love," Charles whispers - and it takes Erik a second to register, to understand, but when he does-

"Say that again." And suddenly, Charles is back to shouting, almost hysterically.

"Love, Erik! I'm in love with you! Why is that so difficult for you to wr-"

But before Charles can finish, Erik's tugging him closer, right across the seats. Charles opens his mouth, and Lehnsherr takes the plunge, kissing him like there's no tomorrow.  
Xavier breaks it - neck cranes up, hands on Erik's thighs. Lehnsherr wants to go back - right back - but Charles is looking at him, and he can't tell what he's feeling, and he wants-

Wants-

To know-

 

_Charles._

 

He focuses on the word, making it larger and larger in his mind, until it fills every nook and cranny.

 

_Charles._

 

Xavier winces, one hand flying to his skull, as Erik's eyes narrow. "Too...loud..."

"I'm sorry," Erik says in reply, "I am. I...I haven't been entirely honest with you, either."

"What do you mean?" Charles's words are soft - quiet, but with an undercurrent. Erik wishes he knows what it is - distrust? Loathing? Forgiveness?

"I'm sorry," he says, lifts up a hand, and rotates it.

The rear-view mirror moves, too.

Charles looks between them.

"You didn't tell me."

"I couldn't." They look at each other, as the mirror stops moving. Erik's throat is glued shut.

"We're both such hypocrites, aren't we?" A smile tugs at the corner of Lehnsherr's mouth; it's barely visible.

"Yes, I suppose we are."

 

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

 

The clock counts down.

Charles starts to giggle first, running his hand up Erik's face. The taller man soon joins him, rumbling along with his laughter, face splitting with a grin.

"We...are...such...idiots! You...you're a mutant! A groovy mutant!"

"A groovy mutant?" Erik questions, flattening his expression down, "I don't think one mutant's groovier than another, Charles. You're going against the MRM. Emma will have your head."

"It is groovy!" Xavier protests, "you're Erik Lehnsherr, the groovy...what?"

"Metalkinetic," he supplies, "the groovy metalkinetic."

"The groovy metal bender! It's...it's..." Charles flaps a hand in the air, searching for the word.

"Groovy?"

"It's groovier than groovy! It's double groovy!"

"Triple groovy!"

"Quadruple groovy!" Erik lifts his chin in the air, not to be outdone

"I'm just on my own plane of grooviness. Nothing can compare." Charles is practically bursting with laughter, resting his head on Erik's chest.

"Oh, my friend, you're in another realm of groovy! Another galaxy!"

"A groovy galaxy?" Erik asks, cocking his head to one side. "because if I am, I'm the grooviest thing in it."

"Without a doubt." Charles musters what little calm he has left, twisting round to meet Erik's gaze. Cautiously, Lehnsherr's arms slide around his torso, resting on his upper thighs. "I'd go so far as to say...Erik, you are the official King of Groovy."

Erik's heart is speeding up, just from the contact; he can feel himself flushing. Charles is so close, on the narrow seat, huddled in the space between Lehnsherr's legs - and if that wasn't enough to make him go weak at the knees, he's smiling that thousand-watt smile. And it's all for him.

"If I'm the King of Groovy, does that make you the Queen?"

"Don't start," Charles says, leaning closer, "or I might forget to be my usual charming self."

"I wouldn't mind that," is Erik's response, "there's nothing sexier than a rogue."

"Nothing apart from the Groovy King." Erik nods.

"Obviously." When he leans in, encircling Charles with his hands, it feels a little like flying.

 

·

 

They settle into a routine, of sorts; wake up, kiss each other senseless, fly out the door, barely arrive at Erik's work on time, eat lunch together (sitting on the bench, ankles brushing - and no, Erik is not some high school kid with a crush, but it still feels wonder), bitch at Stark (at least, Erik does - Charles normally quips), pile into the car (and make out, if Lehnsherr's lucky), fall into bed, remember dinner, kiss some more, forget about dinner, and then fall into bed again.

It feels bloody brilliant - but it can't last. The thought's always there, at the back of Erik's mind; niggling away at him, chipping back the stone. Because one of these days, Charles is going to leave - and there's nothing he can do to stop it. The spectacular make out sessions, however, do ease the pain somewhat. And it's a wonderful life - truly. Erik just wishes it didn't have to end.

 

·

 

"OK, I don't know who you are...but I've got a taser, and I'm not afraid to use it."

"It's me, Darcy. Erik? Who you've known for six years?" Darcy shakes her head wildly, taser pointed towards him.

"Nope. You're not. The Erik Lehnsherr I know would never, ever, offer to make me coffee."

"It was tea...and I'm getting some for Charles, so it only seems-"

"Hold it, hold it," Darcy says, cutting him off, "that's the difference! Your boyfriend!"

Erik's almost tempted to say 'he's not my boyfriend', out of force of habit. Instead, he smirks, and replies:

"I think it is. Would you like tea?"

"Coffee. Black, no sugar. And I brought you a sandwich, if you want it." Darcy casually pockets the taser, looking as though nothing out of the ordinary just happened. Erik wonders how often she does this. He pities her poor flatmates.

"Thank you," Erik says, moving back over to the bench, "I appreciate it." It strikes him how funny it is - here he is, thanking Darcy like Charles would, and actually pretending to be grateful for her horrible sandwiches. It's official: the apocalypse is nigh.

"Stop doing that!" Erik looks up.

"Stop doing what?" Darcy throws her hands in the air (holding tightly onto the baguette).

"That! The niceness! It's not...not...right!" Erik's brows furrow; his forehead creases.

"How am I acting differently?" Darcy huffs with laughter.

"Let's see..." She proceeds to launch into a list, counting each point off on her fingers: "One: you come into the lab, and actually say hello to me. Two: you offer to make me coffee, without being forced at gun-point. Three: you don't snap when I ask about your boyfriend. Four: you accept my sandwich without complaint. Are you sick?"

"No," Erik replies, "I'm perfectly fine. If you'll excuse me, I've got to find Charles...he challenged me to a game of chess, and I can't back down. For the sake of my honour, you understand." Darcy's mouth falls open.

"What have you done with Erik Lehnsherr? He may be a grinch, but I want him back!"

"I'm right in front of you," Erik says, before strolling away, unwrapping the sandwich.

Once he's out of sight, it goes straight in the nearest bin. Erik whistles while he walks.

 

·

 

At home, Erik tumbles onto the sofa, rubbing his eyes with his hands. Charles plops down beside him; Erik's feet come to rest on his lap. Xavier gently rubs them, as he talks: "Bad day?"

"Not too bad. Yourself?"

"Same as usual. Darcy keeps on following me."

"She called me a grinch, and said you'd changed me." Charles chuckles, as Erik leans back, relaxing.

"Yes...I was a little concerned, when she started threatening me. Apparently, Natasha Romanov has some very sharp knives...which Darcy has access to. Any other news?"

"Rogers walked in on Bruce and Loki." Xavier whistles through his teeth.

"I don't believe you." Erik opens his eyes, sitting up - Charles hangs onto his feet, continuing in his gentle task. Lehnsherr soaks in the soft touches.

"It's true! Did you see his face? What else could have gone on?"

"Any number of things!"  
"Like what?" Erik asks.

"Mark my words, Lehnsherr...if you don't quit with this gossiping, you'll be the next to stumble in on them."

"The day that happens will be the day we do it in the lab."

Charles smiles - it's wide, and genuine.

"I'd like that." Erik switches on the TV, with a snap of his fingers.

"Show off," Charles says; but he's smiling, too. Xavier shifts around, burying down on Lehnsherr's chest.

 

_I love you, you know._

 

The words shine out in Erik's head - he doesn't think he'll ever get used to it.

 

_I know._

 

·

 

As Charles dreams, Erik combs his fingers through the brown locks - sure in the knowledge that Charles can't feel him. "Mmm, Erik...you know, you're very sexy when you think I'm asleep..."

"Why do you want this?" Xavier turns over, grinning sleepily.

"Isn't it obvious?" Lehnsherr shakes his head, as Charles blinks up at him. The shadows play over Xavier's cheeks, creating dark pools beneath his lashes; his eyelids flutter, as he yawns, tongue moistening his lips, flicking out over it. It's much too warm, all of a sudden - no longer comfortable, but on the edge of something else. Erik can feel it - standing on the lip of the precipice, as the ground falls away beneath his feet, and the sky stretches out endlessly above.

"Why do you want this?" Erik repeats - but Charles is already asleep. Sighing softly, he readjusts himself, and prepares for a night of wakefulness. The door handle clicks back into position, from where it was hanging loosely.

 

·

 

On the television in the break room, there's a picture of a throng of people, holding home-made placards.

Free our streets! We have the right to know! Free our streets! Reveal the mutants! Free our streets!

Erik turns it off, heart pounding. It never gets any better - every time, it's just as raw, just as recent. It'll never step hurting.

Darcy, from her curled up position on the sofa, raises her head. "When are they going to tell us who those guys are? We've got a right to know this stuff."

"Do we? Do we really?" Erik stands, smarting. Darcy recoils.

"Cool it, machismo, I'm just saying. They could be dangerous."

"Or they could just be living their lives," Erik spits out.

"We can't know that."

"Oh? Then what if it was me, Darcy? What if it was Charles?" He realises his mistake a second too late, and freezes. The woman doesn't even look away from the screen.

"Well, I guess I wouldn't mind so much...but it's not you guys. It's mutants. Mutants hurt people. That's what they do." Darcy shrugs, as if she's just revealed a fact of life. "Get over it, MRM. Now shut up - Les Mis is on in a minute, and I'm not missing it again. Jane and Thor kept kissing over it, and I couldn't concentrate. It's got way worse since Loki moved out."  
Erik looks at her: sitting on the couch, jeans frayed, glasses on the tip of her nose.

Ordinary. Predictable. Safe.

He doesn't stick around for Les Mis.

 

·

 

Charles and Erik lounge on the sofa, wine glasses in their hands. Fading light shines through the window, tinging their faces grey and gold. All Erik can see is Charles, as he picks up the remote, switching on the television; curling into him, as the day vanishes.

"But who are these mutants? It's our right - our right, as human beings - to know who have been allowed into out city, and what...abilities they may have. What if they're dangerous? I know I don't want my kids out at night, if I can't even say who they should watch out for-"

Charles turns off the screen, hand clenched around the glass. His face is white. "They're going to reveal us." Erik grabs his hand.

"They won't. Shaw may be a bastard...but he's true to his word." Charles nods, bloodless; but there's no life behind it. "It's not been ruled, Charles. It won't happen."

"It won't," Charles echoes. His hand tightens around Erik's.

Neither man speaks.

 

·

 

"Charles, I'm heading out." Xavier's tousled head emerges from the pages of his book.

"Oh. Where?" Erik pauses in the doorway.

"I have to...make a payment."

Shaw?

Erik nods.

"Alright. I'll see you later?"

Erik nods again, before wrapping his coat further around him, and exiting the apartment.

 

·

 

Lehnsherr walks to the bank, hands in his pockets. The cold is palpable - on street corners, people hunch together, bunched and bundled in blankets. Erik drops a few coins in a few guitar cases - and before he knows it, he's outside the building, bathed in light. He pauses, before he goes in; he has to, every single time. Some things in life are always hard - and sometimes, there are memories you can't push away, no matter how much you try.

With a smile, he approaches the desk. The woman greets him, as per usual - by now, it's a routine. "What can I do for you, Mr Lehnsherr?" He isn't surprised that she knows his name, although he has no idea of hers. Sebastian Shaw is a thorough man.

"I'd like to cash in a cheque." The woman nods.

"And who's the recipient?"

"Sebastian Shaw." She takes the cheque with a smile, without missing a beat.

"Thank you, Mr Lehnsherr. Mr Shaw sends his regards."

"I'm sure he does," Erik says, and leaves.

His heart is rattling in his chest, as he walks, away and away and away again.

 

·

 

Eventually, Charles gets a job. He's hanging around the lab one day, filing Erik's notes (Lehnsherr always forgets to do it), when Stark glides in. Xavier's busy colour-coding the individual documents (he's so neat - another thing Erik can't help but admire), when the inventor says-

"How would you like a job, Xavier?" And, just like that, Stark Tower has its second intern.

Darcy and Charles, of course, get along like a house on fire. Who wouldn't like Charles? Erik's beginning to rue the day he introduced them - with an appreciative audience, Darcy's twice as bad. But he can never bring himself to separate them; Charles is so happy when they're together, after all.

It doesn't stop them being a handful.

 

·

 

"And then I said to Clint, you'll never get Phil out of the compost like that! And Clint said-"

"There's still the goddamned snake!" Charles finishes, clutching his sides. Darcy crumples, giggling. Erik looks at the two of them, shaking with mirth, and feels his lip twitch. He'd be happy to stand there forever, simply watching Charles laugh - the way his eyes crease, his body shakes, his smile covers his features. Darcy looks across the room.

"Heya, Magneto. Wanna join us?"

"Erik!" Charles's face lights up; he hops off the counter, and rushes to Lehnsherr's side, dragging him forwards. Erik, a little abashed by the attention, focuses on the hand on his arm.

"Stark's spreading that nickname, I take it?" Darcy nods, twirling a strand of hair around her pinkie.

"Yep. It's just a mark of his love for you. Do you know he calls Steve 'Captain America'?"

"Why?" Charles asks, openly curious, "I thought he was exempt." Darcy shrugs. She does a lot of shrugging.

"Don't ask me. I think it's about all that patriotic jazz. Did you know the fourth of July is his birthday? 'Course you do, grinch...you've worked here long enough."

"How do you know that?" Charles queries.

"Tony's been spreading it around. Apparently, he's gonna throw him the 'best party ever to have existed in the history of time'." Darcy bends her fingers in time with the quote, as Erik groans.

"Not another one. It was bad enough last year."

"What happened last year?" Charles directs the question to him, eyes wide, and so beautifully blue - Erik's a little too much in love to be able to speak, so Darcy seizes the opportunity.

"There was a pool...filled with chocolate sauce."

"And whipped cream," Erik adds, still staring down at the younger man, "Don't forget that." Charles licks his lips, very, very slowly. Lehnsherr is reaffirmed in his belief that the world hates him.

"And the elephants...man, it was wild. I'm pretty sure the bar exploded."

"Exploded? That doesn't sound possible." Charles shares a smirk with Erik as he speaks.

 

_I suppose that didn't have anything to do with you?_

_How low your opinion is of me, Mr Xavier. I will have to rectify it tonight._

_Why not now?_

_I told you, not in the lab._

_Why not?_

_Too much metal. Too many potential hazards._

_You seem to keep yourself in check._

_Not when I'm around you._

 

"Err, hey? Guys? Are you even listening to me?" Erik glances away, cheeks hot, as Charles turns to Darcy.

"I'm sorry, I was a little preoccupied. You were saying?"  
"The gold dust! Duh!"

"Of course," Erik mutters, "the gold dust."

 

_So that's how the door handles fell off...I wonder what else I could aggravate?_

 

Erik chokes on his own tongue; Darcy slaps his back, hard. Charles has the nerve to look innocent. "Is something wrong, Erik?" Lehnsherr glares at him.

"Nothing."

 

·

 

Walking out of the building, Charles and Erik are lay-wayed by two teens, bearing W-shaped badges. Erik assumes they're trouble, before they even open their mouths. The taller of the two, a girl with brown hair and doe-eyes, steps forward.

"Hi, my name's Rogue, and I'm fighting for the Westchester campaign. In my view, people shouldn't need to know the identities of these mutants - they deserve to lead their lives, right? We - um, Kitty and I - are helping with the petition. Can we sign you on?" Another girl holds out a clipboard and pen, smiling more shyly. Erik can do nothing but stare. Charles returns the smile.

"We'd be delighted - wouldn't we, Erik?"

"Absolutely." And even thought it's serious, Erik can't stop himself from grinning - because it's so damn ironic, and because Charles can't seem to stop, either.  
Charles takes the sheet, signing his name with a flourish.

As he hands it over, Lehnsherr can't help but notice that there are very few signatures.

 

·

 

At lunch, about a week later, Erik takes orders - a tuna mayonnaise roll for Darcy, a ham and cheese bagel for Charles, and a strong black coffee (he has a feeling he's going to need it), along with a cheese and pickle sandwich (smothered in ketchup, of course - who cares if Darcy says it's grinch nom-noms?) for himself.

Charles remains in the lab with Darcy, after promising not to set anything on fire, send Erik dirty mental images, or accept any dares from his fellow intern.

The last time Darcy talked them into it, Tony ended up on the fire escape naked, Charles was singing 'Great Balls of Fire' over the loud speaker, and Erik got locked in the broom closet with Logan...who, it turned out, was very good at barging down doors. He bumps into the aforementioned door-barger on the stairwell; who, having 'nothing better to do', joins him on the food run.

"If you don't watch, Stark will be down there with your nerd gang. I'm considering joining you myself." Logan pushes his money across the counter, and collects his coffee. Taking a slurp, he makes a face.

"You should come - since Clint left, Darcy's kept whinging about how we need 'new blood'."

"Where is Barton? I haven't seen him in a month." Erik balances his items, and leads the way to the lift.

"I think Coulson kidnapped him. He-" They walk past the stand of papers, the top one bearing the title:

 

IDENTITIES MUST BE REVEALED

There's the picture of a boy, holding a placard:

FREE OUR STREETS!

 

"Bub? You alright?" Erik nods, turning away.

(Why can some people see, but not understand?)

His hands shake.

(Why would anybody do this to someone like Charles?)

"Let's go."

(Why did it have to be Westchester?)

Why did it have to be Charles?

Erik presses the open button on the lift, to reveal-

Loki and Bruce. Wrapped around each other. Practically naked.

Erik reels back, as Logan stares in horror, knuckles bulging. Bruce's hands run over Loki's back, creating red marks on the pale skin. The thinner of the two leans in, that same back arched, and glides his tongue over Bruce's neck, toying with the skin; the tongue flicks away, after a moment. Bruce looks more than a little disappointed. Erik tries not to gag.

"Lehnsherr, Logan. If you two would be kind enough to press the close button, and not say another word about this, that would be appreciated." Loki goes onto his knees, eyes fixed on Banner. Bruce rubs the back of his neck ruefully, glasses askew.

"Hey, guys." Erik draws deep in his courage reserves, and nods.

"Alright," he says, and presses it. The last thing he sees is Loki, shoving Bruce against the floor, as the other man writhes in contentment.

"Man," Logan says, "that's something I'm never gonna forget. "

 

·

 

"Loki. And Bruce. In the elevator." Charles cocks his head to one side, disbelief written all over his face.

"It...I...I can't describe it. It...they..."

"You know what this means, don't you?"

"What?" Erik doesn't like the look in Charles's eyes. "Spit it out, Xavier."

"I'm just casting my mind back...what was it you said we'd do, if you walked in on those two?" Lehnsherr blanches.

"It's hardly walking in on them-"

"What was it, Erik?"

"Have s-sex, in the lab."

"And where are we?"

"In the lab."

"And what did you do?"

"I-" Charles advances, menacingly.

"What did you do, Erik?"

"Technically, it wasn't just me. It was Logan, too."

"The rules still apply." Erik's back hits the counter. "There's no escape now, my friend."

"You know, this could be classed as indecent."

"You've never minded that before." Lehnsherr frantically searches for an excuse. His mind is a blank void, as Charles begins to unbutton his shirt, rocking from foot to foot.

"Charles, please-"

Too much metal I could hurt you please don't please-

"You won't hurt me, Erik."

 

_I have faith in you._

 

 _Do_ _you really believe that?_

 

_Yes. I do._

 

Erik breaches the gap, hot and nervous and slow. Charles steadies him, placing reassuring hands on his shoulders.

 

_I trust you, my friend._

 

Erik's shirt falls away, landing on the floor - the ground burns, beneath Lehnsherr's shoes. He can feel the walls closing in, the metal scraping against his skin. Charles's watch shakes.

"I trust you," Charles repeats, slipping off his jacket, "I know you won't do anything wrong."

"We're in a metal box, Charles."

"The floor is tiled."

"I don't care. I won't risk it." Charles nods.

"Alright. Then I suppose I'll have to." And then he moves onto his tip-toes, and kisses Erik, full on the mouth. It's breath-taking - like that first time, except with none of the uncertainty, and all of the passion. Charles deepens the kiss, shooting his tongue forward as far as it will go, and-

And Erik has him pinned to the counter in under a second, hands working at his jeans, desperate to get them off get them off get them off-

"Woah!" Two heads whip around. Darcy's hands cover her eyes. "Dude, I need my lunch!"  
Erik steps away, fumbling with buttons, and Charles smooths down his shirt. "It's on the table, Darcy."

Erik attempts not to hate her too much.

Another time, then, comes Charles's voice - and suddenly, he thinks he can deal with it.

He doesn't remember the headline until the next morning.

 

·

 

"Do you ever...worry?" Charles emerges from the bedroom, poking his head around the door. He's wearing the brown dressing gown - the one Erik hates.

("It looks like it's dead, Charles! Undead!"  
"Who are you to say? You won't watch the Twilight Saga with me!"  
"I have no interest in acne-ridden teens mooning over each other!"  
"How is that different from 'Vampires in Venice'?)

"Say that again?"

"Do you every worry?" Xavier swallows.

"Yes...all the time. But..." Erik stands, and crosses the room.

"You know I'll always be here, don't you? You know I'll never leave you."

Charles's eyes are heavy. "My friend, if only that could be."

"It will be." Lehnsherr pulls him close - feels Charles's breath on his shoulder, warm and fast - and tries to make himself believe it.

 

·

 

That night, the sex is mind-blowing.

 

·

 

Erik loves many things about Charles: his boundless optimism, his hope for the future, the way his hair never quite lies flat, the tiny, ridged scar on the side of his neck. But one of the things he loves to the end of the earth is the shoes. Every night, when they arrive home, Charles slips off his brogues first, leaving them next to the door. Erik follows suit, lining them up just so - and then he steps back, and admires his handiwork. It's not a lot, having his shoes beside Charles's - but to him, it means everything.

Another thing he loves is the salad. More and more often, he finds pots of it, hidden among his things. The first time, he was in the middle of a meeting, being bored witless by Loki's speech (because for someone meant to be silver-tongued, he's certainly lacking in the believability department), when his hand came into contact with the Tupperware tub. Lifting it out of his bag, he found a box of green leaves, topped with a post-it note.

 

_If you don't eat it, I'll make more and more, until you turn into a cabbage._

 

Erik almost has to excuse himself from the meeting, he's laughing so hard. Stark glances across to the tub, as he stuffs it into his bag, and raises an eyebrow. Erik raises one back, lip still trembling. At dinner, he makes Charles Erik-style pasta bake (ketchup, ketchup and more ketchup), complete with watercress. After that, it becomes a regular occurrence - salad in his bag, in the pockets of his coat, even (on one memorably occasions) in his hat. Darcy wouldn't stop teasing him about the latter for weeks.

But most of all, Erik loves the way Charles cares: the way he always accompanies him to the office; the way he makes him feel alive, after days from hell itself; the way he fights back with fire, when Erik's in a mood, shaking him from it. He loves the way they go shopping together, and Charles man-handles him into horrible clothes (I refuse to wear yellow!), and then he buys them anyway.

He loves the way Charles slides 'Werewolves in Warsaw' into his (yellow) pyjama pants when he's not looking, and waits until he has them on to tell him. He loves everything about Charles - but he loves the little things he does best, because each one of them betrays his sentiments better than words ever could.

 

·

 

Charkes Xavier is hiding under the bed. This is Erik's first thought, when he sees him. The man is sprawled out on his stomach, fiddling around near one of the legs. Every so often, he swears, under his breath. 

"What are you doing?" 

Charles cries out, rolls halfway to his feet, and hits his head on the bottom of the bed. "Erik! I didn't think you'd be back!" 

"Of course I'd be back." Erik stares, blinking. "Has the bed...offended you?" 

"No! No..." Charles scrambles upright, tugging the bed-clothes onto the floor. They pool around his thighs. "I - I thought I saw something. Had to - err - do something. To do with my...um...telepathy. But I...I think I'll be alright without them." 

"Without what?" Erik asks. 

Charles shakes his head - once, twice. "Nothing. Nothing at all." 

"Right," Erik says. "Fine." 

 

·

 

When Tony appears in the doorway of Erik's office, holding a stack of envelopes, Lehnsherr isn't all that surprised. Charles, on the other hand, is both flattered and delighted.

"Thank you so much, Tony! And...it's on his birthday?" Stark grins.

"Said I'd throw him the best party ever, didn't I? Hey, Darce, I've got one for you, too."

"Aww," Darcy coos, "sweet!" She flings herself at Tony, wrapping her arms around his neck, before he even gets the chance to move away. Erik and Charles avert their eyes, choosing instead to look at each other, and the floor. Tony stumbles back, patting her gingerly.

"Yeah, OK, you've thanked me. I'm thanked. C'mon, Darce, you've gotta let go. I've gotta give Professor X and Magneto their invitations." Reluctantly, Darcy disentangles herself, pouting.

"So much for trying to be nice. You're all jerks."

"I'm not a jerk. I'm a grinch," Erik reminds her. Charles snorts into his tea, as Tony places the pile down on the table, keeping two envelopes in his hand. He holds Charles's out, first - Erik can see his name, written in a surprisingly neat cursive. (It must be Steve's work.)

Charles Xavier.

What would that look like as Charles Lehnsherr?

Erik fights the thought down, trying to smother it in:

Wedding invites wedding invites wedding Steve Tony wedding getting married settling down happy life Charles-

And shit.

"Professor X?" Charles asks. Erik swallows.

Sorry sorry sorry sorry didn't mean it don't be horrified maybe I meant it a little bit shit shit damn-

"Yeah. Good, isn't it? You're smart, and your name's Xavier." Stark looks monumentally pleased with himself. "Hey, grinch, you've gotta take yours." And he's holding out an envelope (with flower patterns on the sides) to Erik.

(Erik feels like pinching himself.) He accepts the envelope, a stretched smile on his lips, and tries not to think anything at all. "Thank you. I mean it, Tony." Stark removes his tinted sunglasses, golden band glinting beneath the lights. It sears Lehnsherr's eyes.

"Just don't get used to it. But...yeah. Actually...there was something else I wanted to ask you, too..."

 

·

 

"Congratulations," Logan says as he sits, struggling to make himself heard over the noise in the bar, "you should be proud." Erik moans, head buried in his hands. Charles rubs soothing circles on his back, making vague clucking noises. Logan puts his drink on the counter, looking like a man in heaven.

"He's just a little nervous. He'll be alright - won't you, Erik?"

"Why did I agree to do this?" Logan chuckles dryly into his beer.

"Because you don't know what's good for you, that's why. And because you're a better friend than you give yourself credit for."

"Hear that, Erik? You're a good friend," Charles says. Lehnsherr unpeels his face from his hands, running his fingers down the tender skin, as Xavier leans closer. "Don't worry. You'll be fine." Logan leans away, pretending not to notice, as Erik turns his head.

"It's just...I don't...it's Tony. And...he's not a family kind of guy. He doesn't settle. And now...now he is, and...it's changing, you know? Everything's changing, and...and...I can't keep up." Erik takes a gulp of beer, head dangerously close to Charles's. The alcohol's making him buzz, giving him courage - and, if Charles doesn't watch out, Lehnsherr's going to have every watch in the room on the ceiling, because Charles is - is - so perfect, so blue-eyed, so flushed, so tantalising, and he just...wants, more than anything else. "I can't keep up, anymore."

"Look on the bright side," Logan points out, "you've got Charles to help you write your speech, best man." Erik's head hits the table. Charles holds up his hand, as Logan snorts.

"Another round, please."

 

·

 

After that, it's all a bit of a blur. Erik knows he shouldn't be drinking this much - knows he could let his powers slip - but Charles is there, and he's sitting so close, and Erik knows - without a doubt - that he's safe; because Charles is there (and he won't let anything happen, not with his telepathy mojo), and he's egging him on, and any inhibitions he may have are blown to the wind.

Erik's watching Logan flirt with some red-haired girl. He thinks he's seen her somewhere before, but he can't quite remember, and it doesn't really matter. Logan chugs down another glass, teeth gleaming; but right now, Erik's too happy to care, because Charles is right in front of him, beautiful and young and so, so joyful, and Lehnsherr's about to leap on him - and Charles would actually let him.

"So, Mr Darcy," Xavier breathes (Erik can smell beer and cinnamon and mint - when did he brush his teeth last? Not as soon as Charles; God, Xavier's going to recoil, it's only a matter of time), "I hear you have an interest in me?"

"You hear correctly, young sir," Erik replies, playing along. His head's spinning, and his heart's in his throat, but it's all much, much easier. For example, it would be incredibly easy to simply lean across, and kiss Charles. It would be easy to lift up his hands, pin Charles to the floor by his cufflinks, and do him there and then. It would be easy to not care about Winchester, about Shaw, about anything.

Free our streets! Free our streets!

It would be easy to let go.

So, he does. "Let's get out of here," Erik says. Charles's orbs glow; and they get.

 

·

 

They stumble through the streets, leaning on each other, breath steaming in the darkness. Overhead, the streetlights form a pathway, guiding them onwards. "Oh, Mr Lehnsherr," Charles slurs, arm thrown over Erik's shoulders, "you do look most dashing this evening."

 

_When I say dashing, I mean kissable. You do know that, don't you?_

 

Erik's arm tightens around Xavier's waist, pulling him further upright. Charles misses a step, giggling as he regains balance, skipping to a stop in front of Erik.

 

_The same goes for gentlemanly. And sexy. And groovy._

 

Charles puts his hands on Lehnsherr's shoulders, craning his neck upwards. Erik thinks he can see stars, thousands of them, reflected perfectly in those blue eyes.

"I have been compared to Mr Rochester, I'll have you know. I even dressed up as him once." Charles laughs, apparently gleeful. Erik surges on, eager to please: "It's true! It was the last day of university, and everyone was going to this...I don't know, this costume party Azazel was throwing. I dumped him in water later, but that's not the point."

"May I ask why?" Erik snorts, swaying slightly - he holds onto Charles, grasping the fabric of his t-shirt. It's a deep, dark blue - not as dark as the sky, but dark enough. Are there stars on it, too?

"He was being a shit to Emma. Little bastard deserved everything he got. Anyway, Emma was Blanche Ingram, and I was Mr Rochester. I think Azazel was a pumpkin, or something."

"A pumpkin?" Charles's eyes sparkle. "I'd have liked to see that." Lehnsherr almost asks Xavier where he went to university - and then he remembers.

"It was wonderful. He'd spray-painted his face orange. I still have the photographs, somewhere."

"I'm sure you'd have been just as handsome in university." They're swaying now; side to side, with no particular rhythm or grace. Erik supposes you could call it dancing, but it feels a hell of a lot better.

"I looked a lot different, back then...for starters, my hair was naturally black." Charles snorts, starting to spin - Erik moves with him, and now they're swaying round in circles, beneath the streetlights and the stars.

"When I was a teenager, I went through a bit of a rebellious phase."

"Oh, yes?" This is new - Lehnsherr likes the idea of Charles as a rebel...possibly in leather trousers.

"I gave Shaw hell, as much as I could. God, he's an ass, isn't he?" Erik's grip grows a little firmer.

"You have no idea. In...in Germany..."

You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to.

Erik nods. "He was worse," he finishes lamely, "I think."

"Hard to imagine," Charles comments, "but tonight isn't about him, is it? It's about us."

"Yes...yes, it is."

In that moment, Lehnsherr makes a decision. Breaking away, he feels Charles's look of disappointment tug at his gut, and takes his hand instead.

"There's somewhere I'd like you to see." Charles grins.

"Lead the way, my friend. I'll be right behind you."

 

·

 

Charles staggers after Erik, blindly trusting. Every step Lehnsherr takes, his head clears a little further - and it may be the crisp night air, or the barely visible stars, or the pressure of Charles's hand in his...or it could be a combination of the three. Whatever it is, Erik doesn't want to fight the feeling: the allows it to wash through him, submerging him, sharpening his senses.

He's never felt this alive before.

Lehnsherr's feet lead the way, dodging round parked cars and motorcycles and towering apartment blocks. Erik tugs Charles onto the street, as the headlights wash over them - and Charles stumbles, laughing, as the driver slams on the breaks - and all Erik can think is-

 

_No not now not ever-_

 

And he yanks Charles forwards, with a spectacular pull on his hand - and they both trip, still laughing, onto the pavement. As Xavier passes, he slams his hands down on the car's bonnet, shouting: "Sorry! Sorry!" And Erik's beaming, staggering, and it doesn't seem to matter so much, even as the door opens, and the driver gets out, shaking his fist, and they both bolt, panting, for the shadows.

Because yes, they may have just missed getting run down, but he's with Charles, and he's floating on a beer/adrenaline induced cloud, and everything will be just fine. For once, life will work itself out, and they'll still be running, gasping and stop-starting, until they eventually trip, sprawling on the cold ground - and then they'll pick each other back up and keep going, because that's what people in love do. And, to Erik, that's what love is - picking each other up, when you fall down.

And when they're old and grey, and sitting in their rocking chairs slurping tea (because neither time nor God himself will tear Charles away from it, and Erik won't leave Charles, not ever), they'll look back on this day, and laugh - and it'll be a good kind of laughter, the best kind, because it'll be one of many happy, happy memories that they've shared together, and they'll revel in it.

·

When they finally reach the pond, there's no one else around - just the two of them, and the trees and the moonlight and the shadows. Erik pulls Charles onto the edge of the pond, and looks out over the water. The moon's reflected in it: a pale circle in the deep sea, rolling and shaking with every breath of wind.

"This is where I come, when I need to think." Charles turns on the spot, staring around. For some reason, Erik finds himself unreasonably nervous. "Well? What do you think?"  
Xavier pauses, facing him, smile as bright as the stars above. "I think it's bloody brilliant."

And Erik's grinning, and then pouncing - wrapping him arms around Charles's waist. Xavier, laughing, spins around, taking Lehnsherr along with him, still gripping his waist. They zoom around together, skidding over rocks and foliage and beer cans, and Erik's smiling and smiling and smiling, as though he'll never stop - and he pulls Charles into him, and kisses him, fuelled by everything that could be.

It's sweet and buzzing and happy - so indescribably happy - and as they stand there, arms around each other, Erik doesn't think about Westchester, or Shaw, or anything: just Charles, in front of him, smiling against his chapped lips, and so very, wonderfully human, that he becomes breathless. 

 

·

 

Lehnsherr vaguely remembers the trip back to the apartment - shooting glances across at Charles (like a child), clambering through the door (rubbing shoulders), flopping down on the bed (just lying there, looking at each other).

"You're beautiful, Erik. You're really bloody beautiful."

"I'm not...I think you're getting us confused."

"I don't know why you can't see it."

"There's nothing to see, Charles." Lehnsherr wants to bang-his head against the Charles-scented pillow (strawberry shampoo, the faint tang of salt, mint leaves), because he should be singing the other man's praises right about now, preferably whilst kissing him within an inch of his life (closer is better). If it was up to him, they'd be stripping off within seconds.

Charles, however, is unwilling to let the matter drop.

"But there is! You're...you're..."

"Average. Thoroughly and utterly normal." Erik's starting to get a little annoyed - his entire being itches for Charles, with an intensity that both frightens and arouses him, in equal measure. He flips onto his back; Charles forces him back onto his side.

"That's bollocks!" Xavier's pools of azure spark dangerously, shockingly, burning him to a crisp.

My friend, why do you persist in putting yourself down?

"How am I? I'm hardly you."

"What do you mean?"

"You're beautiful," Erik states, "There's no way anyone could think otherwise. Anyone. And..."

And when Tony talks to you, my stomach curdles.

And when Darcy makes you smile, I want to throw her out of a window.

And when Emma made you afraid, that day in January, I've only wanted to hurt one person more.

"And everyone thinks so."

"I assure you, my friend, they do not. I'm frightfully bland. You, on the other hand..." Erik stares at Charles.

"You...you're...you think..."

"I'm bland. Yes. It's true. Quite frankly, I'm amazed you can find me even remotely...you know...highly attractive...true, I'm not bad to look at, but it's nothing interesting, is it? Nobody would run screaming, but...I like to talk my way past first appearances. And I've been told I have a nice smile."

"A nice smile?" Charles nods.

"Yes. Unless...you don't think so?" Erik wants to speak - but his brain's decided to short-circuit, leaving him high and dry. Xavier's features seal themselves: his mouth draws into a line. "You don't. Alright. Well, I think I'm going to go to sleep. The early bird gets the worm, and all that. Goodnight, Er-"

He doesn't get to finish, because Lehnsherr clamps a hand over his mouth. Charles makes a muffled noise, as Erik takes his face closer.

"Never let me hear you say that about yourself again. You are perfection; I've never met anyone as handsome as you before, in my entire life...and you're the nicest, most loving man I know. I never dreamed I'd have the pleasure of being in a relationship with you, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let you think you're anything less than you are. I have no idea what you see in me; and I honestly don't care...as long as I get to stay with you."

Charles's eyes are impossibly wide, as Lehnsherr withdraws the appendage. "I see everything in you," he says; and for Erik, that's enough.

When they eventually sleep, their hands are intertwined, as dawn breaks.

 

·

 

Erik wakes. Sunlight's bathing him in its glow, warming every pore - he stretches, muscles aching, reaching out for Charles-

And finds nothing.

He's alone.

Lehnsherr throws on his dressing gown (that horrible thing), and pads into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There's a light on under the bathroom door: the anxiety fades, somewhat, because Charles hasn't run off with a secret service agent; he's still here, in the bathroom, where Erik can easily find him.

Smiling, Lehnsherr fills the kettle, and plugs it in, wiping stray droplets from the brim with his sleeve. The water hisses as it boils.

Tea tray in hand, Erik makes his way back into the other room. Charles is still in the bathroom - there's a gentle hiss of water, most likely coming from the shower. And that means water - rolling down Charles's torso, his hips, his thighs, pooling around his ankles, wetting his hair, his lips, beading his eyelashes...Lehnsherr resists the impulse to tear open the door and leap inside, casting his mind around for a distraction. A trashy paperback, the sofa, the remote-

Like a drowning man, Erik springs, grabbing the controller as though it holds the answer to his prayers. From the shower, there comes a faint noise - Erik stops, stock-still.

Did Charles read his mind?

But no - soon, words become audible.

"I'm singing in the rain, I'm singing in the rain, what a glorious feeling, I'm happy again!"  
Erik never had Charles down for a shower singer. He relaxes, clicking the on button, and feels a smile elevate his lips.

"I'm singing, singing, singing-"

"This morning, at precisely six am, the identities of the mutants on the Westchester program were revealed to the public for the first time."

Erik drops his cup.

"Erik?" The fragments land on the floor, scattering everywhere. Tea splashes over his bare feet. He doesn't notice. Charles is beside him in an instant, hands on his knees, looking up. "Erik, what's wrong?"

 

_Talk to me, Erik. Tell me._

 

"Charles," Erik says, eyes flashing to the screen; and he's aching, breaking up inside, because it's all so wrong - so wrong, so wrong, so wrong - and so inevitable.

Charles follows his gaze, head turning - and stops. Freezes. Pauses in motion.

And his face is on the screen - and it's not just a reflection. He's in a room - one Erik doesn't recognise - with long, bay windows, and a table in front.

"Why do you want to join the program, Mr Xavier?" a voice asks, from behind the camera. Charles - young Charles, with shorter hair and no stubble and neat clothes - chuckles. He sounds just the same.

 

_I'm so sorry, Charles._

 

"I just want to lead a normal life. That's all I've ever wanted."

 

_I'm so very, very sorry._

 

The camera switches view, the screen splitting. A tall, blonde boy: Alex Summers. A girl, with silvery wings and chocolate skin: Angel Salvadore. Another boy, with milk-white skin and wild hair: Sean Cassidy. And then - Charles Xavier. Erik looks down at the real Charles; his expression is tense, nervous, when the second girl appears on screen - and even Lehnsherr has to hitch a tiny breath, because she's blue: bright blue. Raven Darkholme.

Charles visibly calms, slumping down; but his back is still a ram-rod.

"They didn't get her. They didn't get her form."

"Her what?"

"She's a shape shifter," Xavier says quietly, eyes fixed on the screen. "She can look like anyone. She'll be safe."

Safe. The word rings in Lehnsherr's head, slamming against his skull, rupturing everything. Safe. Safe. Safe. Because even after all this, Charles still cares about others more than himself. It makes Erik want to shake him; or hold him. Charles smiles - a thin, brittle thing, devoid of any humour. "I suppose this means we won't get our lab sex, after all." His voice breaks.

And then he starts to shake, head falling onto Erik's lap, body contorted with sobs. Lehnsherr clings onto his back, leaning forwards - and it's all wrong, and nothing's working, and they're holding onto one another, ruined by stormy seas - and after it all, after all they've been through, after all they've lost (he's lost), it's all going to change; as Charles is a supernova of tears and pain and anguish, and a life lost (he's lost), and it's all broken, surrounded by tea and mess and filth, and Charles's wordless moans - and there's nothing Erik can do to end it.

Lehnsherr is vaguely surprised to find that he's crying, too; somewhere in the back of his mind, where he isn't screaming.


	4. Chapter 4

 They draw up outside the lab early; Erik looks across at Charles, limp in the passenger seat.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Xavier raises his chin, form hardening.

"I am. I...I've got to say goodbye. Even if they don't want it."

"OK," Erik says, and because he can't think of anything else, he repeats it. "OK."  
Charles takes his hand, and opens the door.

The building's never seemed so tall.

 

·

 

As they walk through the lobby, every eye in the room is on them - literally. Erik keeps his eyes on Charles, and a hand on his wrist; but Xavier just looks directly ahead, not meeting a single gaze; curious or otherwise. It seems to take an age: a step, a step, a step - Erik sends a glare at Bobby Drake, daring him to even try it - and his heart's in his ears, beating, beating, and he can't think at all - and Charles is looking back at him. It's just a glance; a tiny movement of his head, a miniscule show of recognition - but it's still there, and Charles still needs him, so he can't stop.

Not now, not ever.

Step. Step. Step.That's when the whispers start; curling around the corridors, pooling up the walls, passing from mouth to mouth, eye to eye, human being to human being.

Mutant.

Not human.

Not safe.

Safe, safe, safe.

Charles's jaw tightens, almost imperceptibly, waiting for someone to come in front, block their path.

"They shouldn't be in here," someone says, "where's security?"

Erik's throat grows dry - because he can't fight without his powers, and he can't show his powers because he'll be chucked into Westchester, and he can't be locked up because of Charles-

There's a ripple of assent; Charles pauses, looking over his shoulder. Erik squeezes his wrist - hard.

 

_Keep walking. Don't stop._

 

_You shouldn't have to do this._

 

The words are heavy with regret.

 

_I'm not leaving you._

 

_I know, my friend. I know._

 

Just a few more steps, and they'll be in the lab. Erik fights not to break into a run; carry Charles away from it all.

Step. Step. Step.

And then the hand lands on his shoulder.

 

·

 

Erik spins around; by the door, about a foot in front, Charles stops. The man is tall, wearing a suit; Lehnsherr thinks he's seen him before, around the building. They've probably talked. "I think you should go, son...you, and your friend."

 

_Get into the lab, Charles._

 

Erik sends the words out, highlighting them in red, before pasting on a smile.

"I'm sure there's no need for that. Charles and I have simply come to collect our things." Erik shakes off the hand, facing up to the guard, whose hands twitch around his trouser pocket.

"We don't have his kind, here." His kind - and this is what he's always been afraid of. It's almost funny; he's spent his whole life running away from it, and now here he is...and not because of anything he did, or even himself. Guilty by association. He feels the strangest urge to giggle.

"We're just here to pick up our documents. Then we'll be gone." Charles steps forwards, eyes lidded - and the man flinches back, eyes wide. Erik sees the pain flash across Charles's face; it mirrors the emotion in his chest, his lungs, his heart. In a moment, Xavier's face is tight.

 

_Get into the lab, Charles._

 

Around the three men, more and more people are noticing - muttering: 

"Who is that?"

and then, 

"Xavier..."

Charles's pulse increases; Erik can feel panic, fluttering inside his own chest, competing with the anger.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir." The security guard appears in the background, shades fixed firmly over his eyes, dark hair sleek. He's not too much taller than Erik - Lehnsherr can't hit for toffee, but it looks as though he's going to have to try. The last time he was in a fight, it was after he threw Azazel into the pool. Janos Quested had a mean right-hook, and he wasn't afraid to use it. That particular gem of a night had ended badly.

(Lehnsherr had, conveniently, forgotten to mention that to Charles.)

"Now, gentlemen, let's talk about this rationally." Xavier's hand creeps up to his forehead - the guard spots it, hand going to his belt, for the gun stored there - Erik focuses on the metal, preparing - the gun twitches - the guard opens his mouth-

"Charles! Erik!"

Tony Stark saunters out of the lab, arms spread wide; and then he's pulling Charles into a hug. Xavier visibly stiffness, before relaxing into the embrace. Erik watches on, as Tony whispers words into Charles's ear. Charles tenses, before stepping away. His eyes go to Erik's, as Tony turns.

"Long time no see, Lehnsherr. I was starting to think I'd scared you off."

"Scared me?"

"Best man duties. You're still up for that, right?" The guard lowers his hand, as th inventor's eyes move across. "Hey, Summers, what's going on? The guard fiddles with the arm of his glasses.

"Sorry, sir. There was a misunderstanding." The suited worker stares at the floor.

"Hope so. Hey, nothing to see here, folks. Back to work - money won't make itself." Stark claps his hands together. "Get moving." The words are simple, even friendly; but his eyes are sharp, and flinty. They broker no argument. Erik's never been happier to see that expression.

As the crowd begins to scatter, people reluctantly moving away, calmness sweeps over Lehnsherr like a wave. Automatically, he looks to the door. Charles is still tense, body rigid; everything about him is sharp. Erik wishes he could draw a blindfold over his eyes, and block out-

Charles Xavier.

But then Tony's grabbing his arm, and saying: "C'mon, cowboy, I've got words to say to you."

And now, he has no choice but to be steered away, behind metal doors. Erik's stomach flips inside out.

 

·

 

Darcy launches herself at Charles like a cannon ball, the second she sees him arrive. "What the hell? Why didn't you tell me? We could've helped! You're such a selfish bastard! You're still you, right? Oh my God, I hate you so much!"

"It's good to see you too, Darcy," Charles replies, chuckling breathlessly, "and I am sorry." Darcy steps back, hands on her hips and pouting like a professional.

"You're sorry? I'm sorry! I'm sorry one of my best friends 'forgot to say' he's a mutant! I'm going to need counselling, after this!" Erik, despite the situation, chuckles. It's a bad move - Darcy's attention is now locked on him. "And you! You knew about it, didn't you?"

 

_No point hiding it now, Erik - she's on the war path._

_Shut up, Charles, or I'll carry through with lab sex, and the ceiling will fall on your head._

_Life on the edge, my friend._

_Yes, on the edge of a concussion._

_Ha ha, very funny._

 

"I did know," Erik says, "but I wouldn't betray Charles's trust. It was an accident I found out, anyway."

 

_Don't guilt-trip me, Magneto...it was on the tip of my tongue._

_I know. This is just pay-back._

 

"That's unfair, Erik," Charles says.

"Life isn't fair," Lehnsherr retorts. They grin stupidly at one another; and although the gesture is tinged with sadness, it's better than nothing.

"I hate to say it, bub," comes a gravelly rumble from the back of the room, "but Darcy's never gonna forgive and forget. There's more chance of the world ending."

"I got that, thanks," Erik replies, happiness mingling with the fear, "it's good to know you haven't changed, Logan."

"Woah, Logan, did Magneto just thank you? I'd put this on tumblr...if, you know, you hadn't lied to all of us." Erik flinches at Stark's calm tone, guilt rising up his body.

"Tony-"

"Ah, ah, ah...let me finish, grinch." Tony wags a finger in Lehnsherr's general direction.

"We've all had a very long and very boring discussion-" Logan's cough sounds suspiciously like 'screaming match'. Tony glares at him, before continuing: "Discussion, in which we've come to a few conclusions...but Darcy's gonna tell you the main one. Right, Darce?"

"Yeah, OK, fine. Look..." Darcy tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, shifting from foot to foot. "I know we're a pretty odd bunch - I mean, I know that better than anyone, 'cause I totally started this club - but we've decided that Charles could be a pink hippo wearing riding boots, and we wouldn't care. So, um, Charles...we're all with you, if that makes any sense. And we're all with grinchy over here, too, even though he's the definition of a sour cherry."

"I thought the term was grape," Charles says, smiling, "and...thank you." Darcy shrugs; Logan looks abashed; Tony grins. Erik can only look on, and thank the universe for something he was sure he'd lost.

"Hey, it doesn't mean we're not all still mad at you. I'm mad at you, Mr Telepath," the intern grumbles, before finishing with, "but no matter what, you're one of us. You're stuck with the nerd society, now. No quitting."

"Nope," Charles replies, "I think I'll stick around. What about you, Erik?" Lehnsherr looks at the people in the room: Tony, lounging against the counter, pretending to play on his phone; Darcy, at the forefront, trainers leaving scuff-marks on the floor; Logan, perched on the bench, looking at him intently; and Charles - beautiful, wonderful Charles, with his blue eyes and his random hair and his pressed trousers, who's practically begging him to stay.

This is my family, Erik thinks; and everything doesn't seem to matter so much.

"Definitely," he replies, and watches the smile spread across Charles's face, "all the way."

 

·

 

They spend the day holed up in the lab; it's so close to the usual, Erik almost forgets what they came here to do. While Darcy, Logan and Charles are engaged in a heated game of 'Snog, Marry, Avoid' (apparently, Charles would snog Sherlock Holmes, but he's stuck between marrying Moriarty or Lestrade), Lehnsherr takes Stark to one side.

"You know what we're doing here."

"Don't even think about it." Erik stops short.

"Excuse me?"

"Resigning. Leaving. Running away. Don't even think about it." Tony's voice is firm - and even though he's a good half foot shorter than Erik, Lehnsherr feels like he's looking up.

"Did you see those people in the lobby? They were going to hurt Charles. I can't leave him." And it's the truth - because, at this point in time, Erik would rather shoot the president than walk away.

"Then I'll make sure that doesn't happen...trust me, I have ways. This company's been my playground since before I could walk, Lehnsherr. I know how it works...I've been in every nook and cranny. If anyone wants to get to him - or you - they're going to have to go through me."

Erik looks over to the group - they've moved on (Charles chose Lestrade, of course), and now Logan's being forced to pick between Eponine, Marius and Gavroche. Charles is cross-legged on the floor, completely immersed in the game, eyes sparkling. Every so often, he releases a laugh - a short, shining puff of air, distorting the space around it.

"I'll take care of him," Tony says - and Erik has no choice but to believe him.

 

·

 

They make the trip back to the car quietly. Logan walks them out, hulking frame putting off any potential threats - but Erik knows Logan won't be able to protect them forever. Still, he can't stop the relief rushing through him when they're not targeted - despite the people crossing the street to avoid them. Charles watches them go, eyes painfully sad.

Once they're both in the car, Logan leans in through the window, lumberjack vest practically shining. "You want anything, let me know." Erik nods, as Charles smiles.

"Thank you," Xavier says, "for everything. It means a lot."

"Don't mention it - now get outta here, kids. Try not to get into trouble."

"Shouldn't be too hard," Erik comments, and, as Logan steps away, floors the accelerator.

 

·

 

Emma comes round in the evening, acting as though nothing is wrong, and the whole world hasn't come crashing down. (Erik would kiss her, if he was into that kind of thing.) "I broke up with Azazel." She's standing in the doorway, carrying two carrier bags and a handbag, hair pulled back into a ponytail.

"Come on in," Lehnsherr says, and takes the carriers. As she passes him, he looks both ways down the corridor, before locking the door. (It pays to be careful, after all.)  
Charles looks surprised to see her, and a little resigned. Emma, however, barges straight through. Erik pulls a face over her shoulder - Charles grimaces.

"I'm staying the night. I'll take the couch." Emma bustles into the kitchen, unpacking. Charles follows her through, hovering by the door.

"I don't think that's the best idea...it might not be good for you to associate with me, right now."

"I'm not associating with you, I'm associating with your boyfriend." Emma opens the bags, and dumps a packet of onions down. "Get in here, Xavier, and start chopping. Oh, and Erik? No hanky-panky thoughts where I can hear them."

"Charles blocks them off," Erik mutters, "why can't you?"

"Because he has self-restraint, and I grew up looking over my shoulder. Besides, you can't honestly think he ignores all of them." Emma rolls her eyes, as Charles's cheeks glow. Erik makes a noise, and vanishes into the living room. "Get back here, Lehnsherr...you're doing the tomatoes, not Xavier!"

 

·

 

"Your friend...she's quite a handful, isn't she?" Xavier slices the last of the onions methodically, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. There's a pile beside him on the chopping board, cut and diced to perfection.

"You could say that. I think she feels responsible for me...after I came here from Germany, I stayed with her for a while, until I could afford my own place." Erik slides his pile of tomatoes across with his knife, before grabbing the uncut half of Charles's onion, and starting work on that. Charles places a hand on his arm.

"In Germany...Shaw had power over you, didn't he?"

"Still does."

 

_Where do you think my money goes?_

 

"I wondered how you could work at Stark industries, and not live in a mansion."

"Not everybody's like Stark...some of us have class." Charles's hand rests on Erik's.

"Some of us do," he agrees, "and some of us are just plain groovy."

 

·

 

At dinner - spaghetti bolognese, courtesy of Emma Frost - Emma regales Charles with as many embarrassing Erik-related stories as she can remember. By the end of the meal, Lehnsherr wants to curl up under the table, and die of shame; but Emma's not done yet. With a gleam in her eye, she says: "Charles, did I tell you about Azazel's costume party?" Erik freezes, in the process of returning his plate to the kitchen.

Don't do it Emma please don't do it he doesn't need to know-

Charles leans forward, craning his neck to view Lehnsherr. "Oh, pray do tell."

"I'm sure Charles doesn't need to know this, Emma," Erik cut in, fixing her with-

If you so much as hint at the tree I will wrap you to a bed by the bedposts and strangle you-

Xavier coughs. "I can hear you, you know." Erik blushes furiously, as Frost radiates an aura of smugness. "You were saying, Emma?"

 

_Traitor._

 

Charles smirks. 

 

_We have company. Be polite._

 

"Take a seat, Erik." Scowling, Lehnsherr follows Emma's instruction, wishing the ground would swallow him up. "Now...where to begin?" Frost taps her manicured nails on the table, playing the part of 'lost in thought' well. Lehnsherr knows it's an act; a ploy, to draw her audience in. And, it seems, it's working; Charles's elbows land on the table as he leans in, last dregs of wine forgotten. Erik rests his hand on the back of Xavier's chair, trying to remain casual.

"I believe Erik's told me something about this...Azazel came as a pumpkin, didn't he?" Emma chuckles.

"I think so...though, by the end of the night, you could hardly tell. He was soaking wet, covered in chocolate mousse, and raving for Erik's blood."

"How did that happen?" Erik groans, looking at the far wall, as Frost 'um's and 'ah's'.  
"How to put this politely...? Azazel may have insinuated that I was...less than faithful, towards him. Around two seconds later, Erik threw him in the pool."

"I did hear that part," Charles says, nodding, "but something tells me there's more." Erik begins to sweat.

 

_Leave it there Emma please leave it there-_

 

"Our darling Erik may have attempted to throw a punch at Janos - one of Azazel's cronies - and then tripped into the fondue, beneath which Bucky Barnes and Peggy Carter were...fondue-ing."

"No," Charles breathes, face alight, "he didn't."

"He absolutely did...and then Janos got out of the lake, tripped over the pile-up, and whacked Erik round the head with a bonsai tree."

"A bonsai tree?" Charles splutters, "really?"

"It was a big one!" Lehnsherr counters, "It was spiky! It hurt!"

"Of course it did," Xavier says, lips twitching, "and I'm sure you were a very brave boy." Lehnsherr scowls.

 

 _You love me,_ says Charles, _don't you?_

 

_Yes._

_Just not right now._

 

Xavier smirks, as Emma continues: "Anyway, they all ended up in various positions on the dessert buffet...and, somehow, Azazel and Janos mysteriously reappeared on the very metal chandelier." Erik shrugs, smiling at the memory - it had been a beautiful moment.

"They were screaming," Erik says, "it was magical."

"I'd love to have been there," Charles says - and Lehnsherr thinks he sounds a little wistful, a little hopeful, a little sad. Emma, as always, breaks the silence.

"I have a game for us to play, to do with magic...if you two aren't afraid of the supernatural."

 

·

 

Five minutes later, they all sit around the board, hands on the centre piece.

"This is absurd," Erik comments, "I'm playing Ouija with two telepaths. It'll be far easier for you to cheat than me."

"Who said anything about cheating, Lehnsherr?" Emma asks, voice taking on a lower tone, "The occult forces will decide our fates." Lehnsherr rolls his eyes.

"I take it you don't believe in this nonsense, Charles?"

"Oh, I don't know...it's a dark night. Anything could happen." Xavier raises his eyebrows, in what Lehnsherr hopes is a suggestive manner.

You and me, perhaps...later on.

Yes, that's definitely suggestive.

"Shut up, boys. You're giving me a headache. Play the game." Erik looks down at the board, and the letters encircling it, as the object starts to move, rolling from one to another.  
"I," they all read, hands stopping on it.

When Charles's fingers brush Erik's, a pulse of electricity shoots through him. "L. O." There's a brief pause, when the board doesn't move. Lehnsherr looks across the circle, to where a cheeky grin threatens to spill over Xavier's features. Charles's eyes flit up, blue as peonies, and sparkling with promise.

"V.E.Y.O.U." On the last three letters, Lehnsherr didn't speak, instead choosing to stare at Xavier.

"Cheating, Charles," Emma comments. "If you two are just going to be soppy, I'll turn myself over to the Westchester." At this, Xavier flinches; Erik glares at Emma, who looks back, almost bored - but there's an undertone behind it. "Sorry," she says, "I didn't-" The board moves.

"E.M.M.A.A.N.D.D.A.R.C.Y.M.A.K.E.O-"

"I think the board's malfunctioning," Frost says, pulling her hand back like she's been burnt; but it does little to ease the pain in Erik's chest - it's knotting, festering, gouging out a hole for itself.

Charles's weak smile helps, though. Emma replaces her hand, muttering something about rule-twisting metalkinetics-

And then the board moves.

"E.R.I.K.L.O.V.E.S-"

The blonde meets Erik's eyes; he hitches a breath.

Don't do it, Emma-

"L.E.S.M.I.S."

Erik's body relaxes, as Charles's face lights up.

"Ah, Erik! I never knew you were a fanboy!" Charles looks positively ecstatic. Erik, drained from coming so close to the precipice (and Emma knows, she always knows, damn it), grins.

"Éponine forever," he sighs.

 

·

 

That night, they lie in bed together. Frost retired to the sofa an hour earlier, after dragging Erik to one side and saying: "You know I didn't mean it about Westchester, right? I wasn't...thinking."

"I know," Erik said, "it's alright." (It isn't, but he'd never tell her that.) Emma smiled as she walked away (she knew it wasn't OK, too - he could see it).

"Charles, I think I'm in love with you." Erik takes a breath.

"You think?" Wide blue eyes bore holes in him - he can't look away.

"I've...never felt like this, before. I don't know what I think."

"It's a simple question, Erik. Do you love me, or not?" And Lehnsherr has hundreds of answers-

 

_Too early to form an opinion,_

_None of his business,_

_He's too_

_broken_

_to feel that way._

 

"Yes."

Charles's fingers linger in the contours of his cheeks.

"There we are, then."

"I love you," Erik says, cementing it in his own mind, "I do."

"I love you, too." The words caress him like silk, slipping over him.

"Thank you," Lehnsherr says. "Thank you." Charles's breath is warm against his lips. They hang onto each other, and Erik tries to forget about everything.

He does. 

Almost. 

 


End file.
